Theo didn't believe in fate. Or serendipity. Or whatever word poets and anxious romantics used to make sense of random moments. But when he saw her again - off duty, pouring coffee at a folding table in a middle school gym - it took effort not to stare.
Officer Mara Delaney, minus the badge and the sharp-edged uniform, still looked every bit like herself: sturdy, composed, vaguely tired. She wore a navy hoodie with a faded precinct number on the back, sleeves pushed up to her elbows. She poured hot drinks into Styrofoam cups with the same focused efficiency he'd seen on the street. Like even this was part of a beat she walked.
Theo had only come because his friend Kareem begged him. Something about "community involvement" and "bonus credit" for their social theory class. Theo had expected to sit in the back, passively observe, and quietly disappear. Not - this.
He stood near the folding chairs lining the back wall, pretending to check his phone while sneaking glances at her.
"You're doing the staring thing, dude." Kareem muttered beside him.
"What staring thing?" Theo said.
"The I-know-you-but-I-don't-know-how-to-approach-you thing."
Theo sighed. "She's a cop, Kareem. She arrested me yesterday."
Kareem looked over. "Damn, bro. Did she actually arrest you?"
Theo paused. "No. Not technically."
Kareem grinned. "Then go say hi. Worst case, she doesn't remember you."
But she did.
When he finally approached the coffee table, hands stuffed in his hoodie pocket, she looked up without surprise. No flicker of recognition - because it was already there.
"Good to see you again, Library boy," she said, handing him a cup.
Theo blinked. "You remember me?"
"You had a notebook full of Churchill quotes and were apologizing to the pavement," she said. "Not many like you come through my shift."
He didn't know whether to feel seen or exposed. "I wasn't protesting."
"I know," she said. "Still wouldn't have mattered much to some of the others."
He took the coffee with a muttered thanks. It was cheap and too sweet, but warm.
"Didn't think I'd see you again," he said after a moment.
"Yeah, well. We don't just haunt crime scenes and donut shops," she replied, giving him a tired smirk. "Sometimes we get assigned to community relations."
He chuckled despite himself. "Is this the part where we rebuild trust?"
"Depends. Are you feeling trusting?"
He hesitated. "I'm feeling… less nervous than last time."
"Progress," she said.
A silence fell, not uncomfortable but tentative. The fluorescent lights buzzed softly above them. Around the gym, volunteers stacked canned goods, kids chased each other with paper airplanes, and the smell of overcooked chili hung in the air.
"So," she said, wiping her hands on a napkin. "What are you reading now?"
He blinked again. "Why would you think I'm reading something?"
"You have 'I'm reading something depressing' written all over your face."
Theo smiled - genuinely this time. "Akamatsu. UQ Holder."
She whistled. "You know you're allowed to read books with, like, jokes in them, right?"
"That's what Twitter's for."
Mara laughed—a low, surprised sound. "Fair."
Another pause. Then: "You want to help me hand out some soup? We're short volunteers, and you already look awkward just standing there."
He looked at the ladle, then at her. "Sure."
And just like that, they stood side by side behind the food table, handing out mismatched bowls of lentils and rice to a line of tired strangers. Not a student and a policewoman. Just two people in a gym, doing small things for other people.
Every so often, their hands brushed over spoons or paper towels, and neither of them mentioned it.
Later, as Theo slipped on his coat and prepared to leave, she called after him.
"Hey, Theo."
He turned.
"You walk downtown again," she said, "keep your ears open this time. Don't zone out. You miss things when you do."
He nodded. "What if I miss good things, too?"
She smiled. Not sarcastically. Not dismissively. Just… tired and real.
"You won't," she said. "Not if you're really paying attention."
Theo stepped out into the night with the smell of soup and floor cleaner still clinging to his sleeves.
The sidewalk was empty, just a few puddles glinting under the orange streetlights. His breath came out in clouds. His hands were cold, but his mind felt warm - unsettled, like something had just been shaken loose inside him.
"Not if you're really paying attention."
What a strange thing to say.
She wasn't trying to impress him, he could tell that much. Her tone had been too casual, too lived-in. Like she was speaking from some well-worn place he hadn't been yet. And it stuck with him.
He pulled his notebook out of his backpack mid-walk - stupid, reckless, the kind of thing that would make his mom yell - and scribbled the line down while stepping over a crack in the pavement.
Pay attention. Things don't repeat. You don't get a second version of people.
He paused, then added:
She didn't talk like a cop. Not really. Not tonight. She talked like someone who'd learned the hard way what not to miss.
Theo tucked the notebook away.
He thought of her hands - how steady they were, even when they handed him plastic bowls. How nothing she did seemed performative. Just a present. Clean. Tired, maybe. But present.
He couldn't remember the last time an adult spoke to him without talking down. Or through platitudes. Even his professors liked the sound of their own lectures more than they liked students. But Mara… she'd actually listened. Not out of politeness, but out of instinct. Like she knew silence wasn't something to be afraid of.
Halfway down the block, he stopped walking.
He took his phone out. Open Notes. Typed one line:
'Do you want to get coffee sometime?'
Then he stared at it. He had no number. No contact. Nothing to send it to.
He deleted the note.
Instead, he muttered to himself, "Maybe I'll just show up to the next community event. Pretend I care about municipal recycling or something."
The idea made him smile.
And for the first time that week, he didn't feel quite so small. Or adrift.
He didn't know if they were friends. He didn't even know if she wanted to be.
But he was starting to pay attention.