The Ink of Our Souls|ONC2025

"Arianna?"

A male voice pulled me from the window. I turned, and my heart stuttered. Deep brown, monolid eyes met mine. They tilted upward with a refined elegance I knew as intimately as my own heartbeat.

"Haoyu?" I whispered, knowing it couldn't be him but believing my heart more than my mind.

"I'm sorry?" The man frowned slightly.

I blinked, my gaze taking in the rest of his face, similar, but not the same. His features were a striking blend of European and Asian, familiar yet unfamiliar.

"Sorry," I murmured, flustered. "I mistook you for someone else." I temporized. "How do you know my name?"

"My sister said I'd be sharing a table with you. She asked me to bring your lunch." He gestured to the tray carrying a sandwich and two steaming cups.

"Oh, thank you." I reached out, but before I could grab anything, he smoothly placed the food in front of me and, with practiced ease, set the cups in the middle of the table. He disposed of the tray and took the seat across from me.

He held out his hand with a friendly smile. "I'm Michael."

"Arianna. Oh, I guess you knew that already." I grasped his hand briefly, my fingers warm against his, and felt the heat creeping up my face.

As he settled into the seat across from me, he tilted his head slightly as if testing the weight of my name. "Arianna," he repeated, rolling it over his tongue before reaching for a cup. "Pretty name. Isn't there a singer with that name?"

I laughed nervously, tucking a stray piece of hair behind my ear. "Yeah, but mine's spelled differently. It actually comes from my grandmother. Nothing to do with a pop star or a media mogul."

"It's nice," he said with an easy smile, fingers tapping absently against the cup. "My parents weren't as creative—Michael and Jane. Classic but not exactly inspired."

I smirked. "It could've been worse."

His brow lifted, curiosity flickering across his face. "How so?"

"They could've named you Dick."

He just stared for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then realization dawned, and his lips parted before curving into a wide grin. "Because my sister's name is Jane." A deep, effortless chuckle rumbled from his chest, drawing curious glances from the next table.

I noticed the flicker of envy in the women's faces, a silent question hanging between them—who is she, sitting here with him? I had the absurd urge to explain, to insist it's not like that, but I bit my tongue.

"I haven't heard that one in years," Michael admitted, shaking his head. "Luckily, they named me first." He pulled a laptop from his satchel. "You mind if I get some work done?"

"Not at all!" I answered a little too quickly, grateful for the excuse not to talk. As he typed, I focused on my tea, then let my gaze wander around the café—anything to avoid getting lost in those eerily familiar eyes.

Throughout the café, Jane glided from table to table, brightening every conversation. I found myself smiling as I watched her ballet-like movements.

"She's great at this," Michael said, shutting his laptop. His full, well-shaped lips curved with a hint of mischief. "Sometimes, when I need a pick me up, I come just to watch her work."

"Yeah, she really is a natural."

I debated getting more tea when Jane caught my eye. A moment later, she appeared with two glasses of water, sliding them onto the table with a knowing smile.