“Owen.”
They walked side by side into the rain, past the park bench where Mia had rehearsed this moment a hundred times, past the mailbox with Owen’s misdelivered letters, toward the small café with the flickering neon sign. And for the first time, Mia Li stopped looking from a distance.
He pulled out his phone, typed something, and showed her the screen: Owen Chen, 555-0192. And yes, I’m free. mia li owen
Owen squinted. Then, slowly, he raised his own hand back.
She was finally in the picture.
Mia grabbed her coat and ran for the stairs. She didn’t take the elevator. She needed the time to breathe, to steady herself. By the time she reached the courtyard, the rain had softened to a mist. And there he was, standing under the dim glow of a streetlamp, hands in his pockets, looking slightly bewildered and very much alive.
Mia’s heart slammed against her ribs. She pointed down, toward the street, toward the little park between their buildings. Then she held up the paper with her number. “Owen
She was looking. Always looking.