Your phone screen glowed in your hand, the harsh white light illuminating the red numbers of your bank account. The rent was due in three days. Your mother's voice, sharp with disappointment, was still fresh in your ear from the call an hour ago. You're not trying hard enough. Your brother manages fine.

You thumbed past the banking app. The numbers didn't change.

He was standing on the sidewalk, silhouetted against the neon of a passing taxi. Tailored coat, dark hair, a face that held no impatience. He wasn't rushing. He wasn't checking his phone. He was looking at you, and he was waiting.