The man who had almost been hit was also staggering away, while Hannah Johnson was soaked in alcohol, looking at the person in front of her, her mind a whirlwind.
Why was it him again?
This was the third time, right?
What kind of fate it was to keep encountering him.
Was it all just a coincidence?
But her head was heavy now, so she didn't have the energy to think it through.
Seeing him from such a close distance, she noticed that the man was truly handsome, with long eyelashes and bright eyes, his hair softly falling over his forehead like an obedient canine.
The corridor was dimly lit and hazy, and when their gazes intertwined, there was an indescribable intimacy in the air.
Hannah had just noticed that his hand was still on her waist, warm to the touch.
He had already withdrawn his hand,
acting restrained, distant, and polite.
"Miss, you aren't hurt…"
He had not finished speaking when he bent down to help her pick up her bag from the floor.
