The coffee shop was buzzing with morning energy—steaming lattes, clicking keyboards, and the hum of muted conversations blending into a chaotic symphony. Harper Williams tightened her grip on the strap of her leather bag, her phone pinned between her shoulder and ear as she placed her order. 

"Extra shot of espresso," she said curtly, glancing at her watch. Time was not her ally today. 

"Harper, we need those briefs by noon," barked her boss on the other end of the line. 

"They'll be on your desk by ten," she snapped, her tone clipped but confident. With a quick tap, she ended the call, feeling the familiar knot of stress settle in her chest. 

Balancing her phone, bag, and a folder of documents, Harper reached for her coffee. The universe, however, seemed to have other plans. 

As she turned, her elbow connected with something—or someone. 

"Whoa, watch it!" came a deep voice as the collision sent hot coffee cascading onto the floor—and a well-worn notebook in the man's hand. 

"Oh my God, I'm so sorry!" Harper exclaimed, her eyes widening as she surveyed the damage. Her gaze darted to the man standing before her, his tall frame and tousled dark hair impossible to ignore. 

"Sorry doesn't fix this," the man said, holding up the soaked notebook. His voice wasn't angry, but the frustration was evident. 

"I'll pay for it," Harper said, flustered, rummaging through her bag. 

"It's not about the money," he said, letting out a sigh. "These are my songs." 

Her eyes flicked to the notebook again. The smeared ink told a story of hours, maybe days, of effort gone in a single careless moment. 

"Songs?" she repeated, her brow furrowing. 

"I'm a musician," he said curtly. "Or at least, I was until this morning." 

Harper felt a pang of guilt. "Look, I didn't mean to—" 

"Forget it," he cut her off, running a hand through his hair. "Just... try to watch where you're going next time." 

With that, he turned and headed for the door, leaving Harper standing there, holding her now lukewarm coffee. 

She wanted to call after him, to apologize again, but something about his quick departure made her hesitate. Instead, she dropped a crumpled bill in the tip jar and headed out, the encounter lingering in her mind longer than she expected. 

---

Hours later, the city seemed to slow down as twilight painted the buildings in shades of gold and pink. Harper sat at her desk, the legal briefs she had promised finished and neatly stacked, but her thoughts kept drifting to the man from the coffee shop. 

His face was sharp in her memory: the piercing green eyes that had flashed with annoyance, the weariness in his posture, the way his hand had cradled the ruined notebook like it was something precious. 

Why did it bother her so much? People bumped into each other all the time in New York. Apologies were tossed around as casually as spare change. Yet this one felt... different. 

Shaking her head, Harper pushed the thoughts aside. She had more important things to focus on—like her career. 

Still, as she packed her bag and headed home, the image of the musician's disappointed face lingered, like an unfinished melody she couldn't get out of her head. 

And little did she know, fate wasn't finished with them yet. 

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