After nearly an hour of talking and laughing, the charity gala began winding down.
"I should probably go," Ophelia said, glancing toward Vivian, who was already searching for her across the gallery.
Ethan smiled.
"I hope we bump into each other again."
She laughed.
"In a city this big? I doubt it."
"I'm strangely optimistic."
She simply smiled before walking away.
Ethan watched her disappear into the crowd.
He almost called after her.
Almost asked for her number.
But by the time he made up his mind, she was gone.
When Ophelia got home that night, exhaustion settled over her like a blanket. She kicked off her heels and dropped onto the sofa before her phone buzzed.
Vivian.
Vivian: Don't tell me you spent almost an hour talking to Ethan and still didn't collect his number.
Ophelia smiled despite herself.
Ophelia: No.
Almost immediately—
Vivian: Ophelia! Why?
Ophelia: Because he never asked.
Vivian: And you couldn't ask? He's my friend, not a stranger lurking in an alley.
Ophelia: It didn't feel necessary.
Vivian: One day your pride will personally frustrate me.
Ophelia laughed, set her phone aside, and went to bed.
For the first time in months, sleep came easily.
1 week later
Every Saturday afternoon, Ophelia volunteered at a children's charity center. She donated art supplies, organized painting sessions, and quietly funded scholarships whenever she could.
That weekend she arrived carrying boxes of sketchbooks and paint.
As she rounded the hallway—
"Well..."
She froze.
"So this is where you've been hiding."
She turned.
Ethan.
He was standing with a carton of food supplies balanced on one shoulder.
She blinked.
"You volunteer here?"
"So do you?"
They both laughed.
One of the children ran up and grabbed Ethan's hand.
"Mister Ethan! You're late!"
He looked at Ophelia.
"I've officially been exposed."
Throughout the afternoon they worked together.
He helped set up tables while she taught children how to paint.
He watched her kneel beside a little girl, patiently showing her how to mix colors instead of simply doing it for her.
She wasn't performing kindness.
She genuinely cared.
That impressed him more than anything she'd said at the gallery.
Later, while packing up—
"Can I ask you something?"
"Go ahead."
"Where do you work?"
She zipped up her bag.
"I'm an art consultant."
He stared.
"Seriously?"
She nodded.
"I advise private collectors, museums, and companies on acquisitions, exhibitions, and conservation. Occasionally I help charities authenticate donated pieces."
He let out a low whistle.
"I honestly wasn't expecting that."
She raised an eyebrow.
"What exactly were you expecting?"
He grinned.
"I don't know... maybe a teacher."
She laughed.
"I'll choose to take that as a compliment."
"It was."
A comfortable silence settled between them.
Then Ethan rubbed the back of his neck.
"Can I admit something?"
"Hmm?"
"I wanted to ask for your number the other night."
She looked at him.
"But you disappeared before I could."
"So..."
He smiled sheepishly.
"I'm not making the same mistake twice."
She hesitated only for a second before handing him her phone.
"Here."
He entered his number.
"There."
"My turn," she said.
When their phones buzzed simultaneously, Ethan smiled.
"I guess this means we'll stop relying on fate."
She slipped her phone into her bag.
"I wouldn't call Vivian's charity event and this place fate."
He laughed.
"Fair point."