Josie tried to look away first. She really did. But something about the man in the corner held her attention like an invisible thread, tugging softly yet insistently. He wasn't doing anything remarkable — just sitting with a pencil in hand, a coffee cooling beside him, sunlight washing over his quiet posture. But the stillness around him felt intentional. Calm. A little intimidating.
And those eyes… sharp, observant, unwavering.
She tore her gaze away and forced herself to focus on the counter. She was supposed to be invisible here — the late, disorganized worker who blended into the background. She couldn't afford to attract attention, not until she figured out the details of this new life.
"Josie!"
Her manager's bark jolted her.
"Yes?" she replied quickly.
Mr. Roland pointed at a tray of dirty mugs. "Tables. Now."
She hurried to grab a cloth and started cleaning. But as she moved toward the back tables, she felt it again — that quiet, steady gaze.
He was still watching her.
Not in a creepy way. Not in a flirtatious one either. More like… curiosity. As if he had noticed something different today.
Well, she thought wryly, he's not wrong.
She approached his table carefully. "Excuse me… can I take this?" She gestured to the untouched coffee.
He blinked slowly, as though returning to the present. "No. I'm still drinking."
"It's cold," she said before thinking.
He arched a brow. "Does that bother you?"
She opened her mouth — but no words came. His tone wasn't rude. Just direct. Too direct. She cleared her throat.
"No. Sorry. I just… wasn't sure."
He studied her again, making her press her lips together anxiously. She should walk away. She should go clean another table. She should not stand here looking lost.
Then he said, "You seem different today."
Her heart lurched.
"Different?" she echoed, trying to sound casual.
"Yes." He flipped the page of his sketchbook. Lines, faint but elegant, curved across the paper — was he drawing the café? Or the customers? She couldn't see clearly. "Usually you walk like you're carrying a weight on your back. Today you're… quieter."
Josie stiffened.
Had the original Josie been sad? Stressed? Unhappy?
She swallowed. "Maybe I slept better."
"Hmm," he hummed, unconvinced.
She wasn't sure why she wanted to escape him so badly — maybe because she didn't know him while he clearly knew the old Josie. Talking to him felt like standing on a trapdoor.
"I'll clean the other tables," she muttered and hurried away.
His gaze followed her.
---
The rest of the shift passed in a blur of clinking dishes and steaming milk. When the clock finally struck noon, Josie slipped off her apron and sighed with relief. Her hands ached. Her feet throbbed. And her mind — overloaded with new information — buzzed nonstop.
The curly-haired girl from the apartment bounced over.
"Done for the day?" she asked.
Josie nodded. "You?"
"I have class in an hour." She grinned. "Wanna walk together partway?"
Josie almost said yes — she didn't want to be alone in this world just yet — but a voice called out behind her.
"Josie."
She tensed.
The man from the corner stood near the door, sketchbook under his arm, jacket draped casually over one shoulder. Up close, he was taller than she expected. Clean-cut. Sharp jaw. Serious eyes that didn't seem used to smiling.
Her roommate nudged her. "Go on. He's a regular."
A regular?
Josie blinked. Why did the original owner know so many people?
She stepped forward. "Yes?"
He looked at her for a long moment before speaking.
"I think you forgot this."
He held out a small notebook — the one she had used at the register.
"Oh! Thank you." She reached for it.
But when their fingers brushed, something strange happened.
A spark.
Not electric. Not magical.
Just… familiar. As if she had touched someone she used to know long ago.
His brows drew together, almost imperceptibly.
She quickly withdrew her hand.
"Um. Thanks."
"You're welcome." His gaze softened — barely. "Be careful walking home. There's construction on 12th Street."
He walked away without another word.
Josie stared after him.
Her roommate elbowed her playfully.
"That's Adrian."
Adrian.
So that was his name.
"He's always quiet," the girl continued. "But he's nice. And he tips well. Also — very handsome. You should see how the other girls stare when he walks in."
Josie flushed. "He's just a customer."
"Sure," the girl said with a grin. "Keep telling yourself that."
---
On the walk home, Josie finally had time to breathe. The apartment buildings around her were familiar in architecture but subtly different from her old world — cleaner streets, better public transport, more trees lining the sidewalks. This body's life was modest, not wealthy, but far more stable than her previous one.
What had the original Josie been like?
What had she struggled with?
Why had she transmigrated?
And more importantly — what was she supposed to do now?
She paused at the crossing. A soft breeze brushed her hair. People walked past her, laughing, talking, living ordinary lives full of small routines and simple joys.
Slice of life.
A life she never had before.
Maybe transmigration wasn't punishment.
Maybe it was a second chance.
When she and her roommate reached their building, the girl turned to her.
"Oh, and don't forget — you have your weekly check-in tonight."
Josie blinked. "Check-in?"
"With your community writing group," she said. "You promised last week that you'd actually show up this time."
Josie nearly choked. "I… write?"
Her roommate laughed. "You write terribly. But you're trying."
Josie sighed in relief. Good. If she wrote terribly, nobody would expect her to be brilliant.
"Okay," she said. "I'll go."
But as she headed toward the apartment door, she saw something taped to it.
A note.
A neat handwriting she didn't recognize.
— "Don't forget your sketchbook tomorrow."
No signature.
But she knew who wrote it.
Adrian.
Why did he care?
She pressed the note gently, unable to stop the warm flicker in her chest.
Maybe… this world wasn't so frightening after all.