"Wow, what a coincidence," Oakley Ponciano lowered her phone and casually flicked a wave of curls behind her shoulder, giving Grace Barron a slow, deliberate once-over. "It's a weekday, aren't you supposed to be at work?"
Grace wrapped an arm around her waist and offered a pleasant smile. "Not today. Even machines need rest sometimes, right?"
Oakley's internal eye roll could've shaken the clouds, but her lips remained curled in a polite arc. "True enough. Everyone needs a break now and then."
She motioned toward the baggage drop. "I have to check my luggage now, so I'll leave you to it. See you around"
Grace lifted her boarding pass and waved it gently in farewell, graceful as ever. "Sure. See you."
And just like that, Oakley wheeled her light green suitcase toward the check-in counter, while Grace turned and strode calmly in the direction of her assigned gate.
The world had changed in recent years. Some people had completely given up, embracing inertia. Others clutched their wallets tighter than ever. And then there were the ones who swung in the opposite direction, suddenly choosing to seize joy before life devoured them whole. Revenge tourism had become a thing.
As a result, even on a weekday, airports were crowded with dragging luggage and impatient feet. The gleaming floor hummed with the rolling rhythm of suitcase wheels and hurried shoes.
Grace passed security, reached the VIP lounge, and checked the time. She chose a quiet seat, pulled out her laptop, and started working on a few issues from her father's company.
Sure, she'd taken time off from the magazine. But her father's business still needed attention. In this phase of life, Grace spun like a top. "Productive" was the polite word. "Overworked" was probably more accurate.
Fortunately, she was efficient.
Just as the laptop booted up, she asked an attendant for a black coffee. But before she could take the first sip, she spotted a familiar figure being escorted inside by a staff member.
Today, Oakley Ponciano looked like she'd walked off the cover of a romance novel.
Her off-shoulder beige dress hugged her curves with understated elegance, the pale fabric gleaming against skin like porcelain. Crimson lipstick and winged eyeliner gave her a kind of bold allure, and the soft waves of her long hair danced behind her like a silk banner in slow motion. Every step she took in her heels rang with poise, like a soundtrack to someone's daydream.
She turned heads wherever she passed, a living, breathing mythological figure descending into the mortal world.
Oakley chose the sofa diagonally across from Grace.
She set her bag down with practiced grace, adjusted her posture, and as she casually brushed her hair back, their eyes met—an unexpected collision.
Grace's hand rested on her keyboard. She raised an eyebrow ever so slightly. "Miss Ponciano, fancy meeting you again."
Oakley gathered herself and smiled with elegant restraint. "Indeed…"
Grace's lips curled faintly. "Truly a coincidence."
Oakley cleared her throat, hands folding neatly on her lap. "A very real coincidence."
Grace's voice carried a hint of mischief. "Well then, I won't disturb you. I have some work to finish—chat later?"
Oakley tucked a curl behind her ear and tilted her head. "Don't let me stop you."
Grace turned back to her laptop, fingers tapping swiftly. In an instant, she was immersed again, all brisk lines and quiet focus.
Oakley blinked a few times, observed her, then turned to the staff. "Could I get some cherry tomatoes, please."
"Of course."
Moments later, a plate was brought to her. She thanked the staff with a smile, popped a tomato into her mouth, and let the burst of sweetness distract her from the rest.
She glanced again at Grace, then opened her phone and messaged Natalie Pierce on apptalk:
"Guess who I ran into today?"
Natalie had become her go-to for everything—gossip, venting, especially where Grace was concerned.
Natalie: "No way. Don't tell me—Grace Barron?"
"You're so sharp," Oakley responded, eating another tomato.
She looked up at Grace again and typed:
"I just wanted a peaceful trip. And then—boom—her."
"That's like the universe handed you a shiny red apple straight out of a Disney movie—you're practically Snow-White humming to birds—until you realize you just bit into the Alien franchise, and now there's a xenomorph larva in your mouth. Pure bad luck." Natalie joked.
Oakley grabbed another tomato.
"She ruined me back then. I was a wreck. A whole year on meds, no motivation, flunked my finals—that wasn't just a bad moment, that was a fallout."
Grace was undoubtedly beautiful. Even now, as she worked with her brow slightly furrowed, she exuded poise and clarity. But what did it matter?
Oakley could never forget what had happened. Grace had claimed her account was hacked, but who would believe that?
The whole experience had etched itself into Oakley's memory like a scar. Every time she saw celebrities claiming they "accidentally liked" the wrong post or "got hacked," it brought that wound back to the surface.
"So you're just sitting near each other now?" Natalie asked.
"Yup," Oakley replied. "Luckily, she's busy. We don't have to talk."
"Think positive, focus on good vibes. Like... Miss pie." Natalie teased
At the mention of that name, Oakley smiled despite herself.
Yes, Miss pie. She had hope they'd be good friends.
She opened the mirror app and adjusted her hair. The first meeting had to be flawless.
—
Half an hour passed.
A staff member walked up to Grace and spoke gently. "Ms. Barron, your flight has arrived. You may begin boarding."
Grace closed her laptop and slid it into her bag, her smile effortless. "Thank you."
She stood, ready to follow the staff, when Oakley also rose to her feet.
As they approached the same corridor, they met eyes again.
Grace gave a thoughtful nod. "After you."
Oakley smiled slightly, "Don't mind if I do."
Minutes later, both women boarded the same plane. Same class, even—only difference was that Grace sat a few rows ahead.
Not the same row. Thank God.
Oakley exhaled.
The last thing she wanted was to sit beside Grace. Not just because of their history, but also because Grace—like it or not—was still her editor. Sitting next to her might mean endless questions about deadlines and drafts. That would definitely kill the mood.
Grace fastened her seatbelt and glanced at her phone.
A message had arrived from Miss pie:
"I'm on the plane! Can't wait to meet you today!"
Grace paused before typing back.
She tilted her head slightly, letting her eyes flick toward Oakley's seat.
Then, smiling faintly, she typed:
"I'm looking forward to it too."
With the message sent, she flipped her phone to airplane mode, hugged her arms lightly around herself, and closed her eyes.
Two hours later, the descent began. As the plane touched down, the passengers moved with practiced coordination.
Grace grabbed her luggage, checked the Airbnb's location, and called for a car.
Half an hour later, she arrived.
The house stood quietly behind a lush gate. Thick vines curled over trellises, flowers blooming in clustered bursts of color. The whole yard looked like something out of a storybook—ripe for postcards.
Grace stood a moment to breathe it in, then reached for the trunk to retrieve her suitcase.
Just then, a car pulled up beside hers.
The door opened. Out stepped a woman with luminous skin and a fluid silhouette. The sunlight hit her features, polishing them to an almost ethereal glow.
Grace narrowed her eyes slightly in intrigue.
At the same time, Oakley straightened up and looked toward the gate—then froze.
Their eyes met again.
Oakley blinked, stunned.
Grace gave a polite little laugh. "You're staying here too?"
Oakley bit her lip, then nodded slowly. "Don't tell me… you're staying here as well?"
Grace smiled serenely. "Yes. Small world, huh? Seems we're destined to meet."
Oakley looked from her to the house, disbelief painted across her face.
It took her a second to form words. "Yeah. Really… small."
They exchanged a few more pleasantries, walked in with quiet steps and louder thoughts, and approached the check-in desk together. Glances darted between them like quicksilver.
Then came the elevator—same lift, same floor, same hallway.
No words spoken.
Grace stopped at Room 520.
Oakley halted at 521. Directly opposite.
Grace raised her hand to swipe her card—then paused.
She turned her head ever so slightly and smirked.
"Miss pie with the eighteen facial lesions?"
Clack.
Oakley's card slipped right out of her hand and hit the floor.