I felt my stomach twist. Michael reached for my hand, calm as ever, but I couldn’t breathe.

I met him in a bookstore. We were both reaching for the same dog-eared copy of The Alchemist. Not exactly a gold-digger’s hunting ground. I was there for poetry night. He was there hiding from a board meeting. It started with coffee. Then long walks. Then late-night talks about grief and guilt and what comes after the hard parts of life.

He made me feel seen. Not watched. Not measured. Just… met.