"If it's impossible, we can find another way," Sarah said, eyeing the plumber who wore a red cap embroidered with the company logo.

"I understand you, ma'am. We'll work something out," he replied with a calm, reassuring tone. "My partner and I will be back first thing tomorrow. I'm really sorry for the inconvenience, and just so you know, you’ll be getting a discount for the malfunction." He offered a half-smile, clearly trying to lighten the mood.

Sarah sighed. "Alright." Of all days for the pipe to burst, it had to be today. She silently prayed she wouldn't need to pee through the night , but who was she kidding?

"Nothing’s impossible," he said on his way out. "There’s always a way."

She managed a polite smile, then closed the door behind him.

Dragging herself through the flat, she walked from the kitchen to the small bathroom and finally into her bedroom. She scanned the space again. Modest, but enough to keep her comfortable for the next year of study. A private flat had seemed like the best decision for her peace of mind. She looked down at the keys in her hand, she’d definitely need to make a spare copy for the front door. Her history with losing keys was too well documented to ignore.

Back in the bedroom, she surveyed the unopened boxes in the corner. She hadn't brought much; most of her belongings were still in her old apartment, thankfully, not in Ethan’s.

"No need to rush," she told herself. There was time to settle in, unpack slowly, let it all sink in. She padded back to the kitchen and put on the kettle, ready to make herself a strong cup of coffee.

"Does journalism really interest you?" Emma asked, squinting with suspicion through the laptop screen

Sarah raised an eyebrow. "Emma, please don’t start. Not today."

Emma laughed. "I’m just saying! After college, I swore I was done with school. Now look at you, making me feel like I should get my master’s too." She pulled a funny face.

Sarah chuckled. "You don’t have to if you’re not into it. I just… wanted more options. And something new. It felt like the right step."

Emma nodded thoughtfully. "I get it. So… seen any fine men yet? Any of those handsome Brits walking around your flat complex?" She smirked, adding a fake British accent.

"Girl, I just moved in," Sarah laughed. "I’ve got zero time for all that and FYI, my toilet’s broken."

"What?" Emma gasped dramatically. "That’s tragic. Absolutely tragic."

Sarah rolled her eyes playfully. "It’s getting fixed tomorrow. You’re so dramatic."

She couldn’t sit still. The apartment was quiet, too quiet. She’d tried unpacking, rearranging her desk, scrolling through her phone, nothing worked. Her chest felt tight, her thoughts spinning too loudly.

The earlier call with her mom hadn’t helped either. Something about the way her mother’s voice lingered, like she wanted to say more but didn’t, left Sarah unsettled.

She pushed her curls back, grabbed her coat, and reached for her keys. Maybe a walk would help. Clear her head, get some air, breathe.

The streets were dimly lit but alive with motion. Students laughing, talking, headphones in, minds elsewhere. Sarah walked past them all, not sure where she was headed, only knowing she needed to get out of her head.

A café came into view, but she didn’t stop. She wasn’t hungry. Instead, she found herself drawn toward a quiet path near a small pond she hadn't noticed before. The air smelled like leaves and cold water. Peaceful.

And that’s when she saw them , the black swans, gliding across the water like a painting come to life. Something about them calmed her instantly.

And then him.

Tall, dark hoodie, standing still like the world had paused for him too.

Their eyes met.

Michael decided to go for a walk. After all, there wasn’t much else to do. He’d slept most of the day, classes starting tomorrow, and the restless energy made him want to clear his head. The wind was sharp but manageable, and he was glad for the hoodie wrapped around him. All around, students were scattered , some holding hands, others chatting loudly, laughter echoing through the crisp evening air. But he wanted somewhere quieter, a place to just stare into space and think.

He wandered a bit further and stopped by a small pond. Two black swans glided gracefully across the still water, their feathers catching the dim light like ink spilled on glass. Wow. So beautiful, he thought. He should have brought his camera.

Instead, he pulled out his phone and snapped a few pictures, even recording a short video to send to his family group chat. His younger brothers would love it. Satisfied, he slipped the phone away and turned to leave.

That’s when he noticed her. A figure approaching, curls catching the breeze, brown eyes framed by high cheekbones and full lips, her face innocent yet striking. She paused briefly, eyes meeting his. Maybe she’d come to watch the swans, too.

Michael followed her gaze. She slowly turned away, brushing past him. He stole another glance . The scent of vanilla and kiwi mixed with buttery perfume wrapped around her like a halo. She wore a deep wine-colored coat, oversized and cozy, paired with a crisp white top and jeans. His eyes flicked downward for just a moment , catching the curve of her chest before quickly looking away, guilt rising even though he hadn't meant to stare .

She moved with quiet confidence, stealing a quick look back at him before turning her face away. Neither of them spoke, each too shy, too nervous to break the silence. They both looked back at the swans, sharing the moment wordlessly. Then their eyes caught again , fleeting, electric before both dropped their gaze in unison.

The quiet was broken as other students wandered past, some stopping to take pictures of the swans themselves. Michael looked up once more, but she was gone, swallowed by the crowd.

A pang of disappointment settled in his chest as he scanned the faces, but she was nowhere to be found.

She was beautiful.

Not the ordinary kind but the kind of beauty that shifts something inside you. The kind that slows time. The kind that lives behind your eyelids long after your eyes have closed. Michael felt it in his chest like a tightening, a quiet ache, as though he had stumbled into a dream and wasn’t ready to wake up.

She was the kind of beautiful that changes everything. More breathtaking than anything glossy magazines had ever tried to sell. Her beauty wasn’t loud or polished. It was soft, raw, unfiltered. Like art not meant for a gallery but found in a quiet corner, where only the observant would notice.

She reminded him of poems, those written by yearning poets in candlelit rooms, each word bleeding longing and tenderness. Of soft sonatas played on rainy afternoons, of classical paintings where the brushstrokes seemed to know sadness and wonder at once. She was beautiful like white lilies blooming in forgotten places. Like moonlight on skin. Like music without words. And there were no words, truly, for what he felt. Not enough to describe the stillness she left behind, the way his heart now carried the imprint of her gaze, the delicate echo of her scent, the shimmer of her presence. It was out of this world, something eternal had brushed past him, and his soul knew it.

She was painfully aware of the stranger’s eyes on her, dark, steady, and intense. Tall, with a presence that made her heart beat a little faster. His hair was a mess, unruly and wild, but somehow it suited him, gave him a kind of reckless charm. She noticed the sharp line of his jaw. There was something about him that stirred something inside her, a strange mix of curiosity and something softer, almost like a quiet ache.

As she closed the door behind her and leaned against it, a warm flutter spread through her chest. Why had his gaze unsettled her so much? She’d never been this aware of a stranger before, let alone felt a tingle that stayed long after they parted. Curling under her blanket, she let her mind drift back to his face, trying to catch every detail. His eyes. They held stories, unspoken and mysterious. Did he feel it too? Or was she the only one wondering?

Lying on his bed, Michael stared up at the ceiling, replaying the moment by the pond over and over. It wasn’t just a passing glance. It was something else, something electric, unexpected. He hadn’t just seen her face; he’d felt something behind those eyes, like she saw him, really saw him.

He traced the memory of her curls blowing gently in the wind, the way she looked both confident and shy all at once. How could someone so real seem so out of reach? His mind buzzed with a thousand questions, would he ever see her again? What if she was just a beautiful stranger passing through his life? The thought made his chest tighten.

He closed his eyes and whispered to himself, "I hope I see her again."