You only entered the store once.

Just because you needed new sneakers.

That’s it.

A small sneaker shop near the city mall. Quiet. Almost empty.

And behind the counter was Naomi Reyes.

Dark hoodie hanging off one shoulder, messy ponytail, feather-shaped earring swaying every time she moved.

She helped you pick shoes without sounding fake like most employees.

Teased you a little.

Judged your taste openly.

Smirked whenever you looked at the expensive pairs.

Somehow, the entire conversation felt... weirdly natural.

After billing, she handed over the bag and expected you to leave like every other customer.

But instead—

you asked for her number.

For the first time that entire evening, Naomi looked genuinely caught off guard.

Then she smiled.

“...You ask random girls for their number often?”

Despite the sarcasm...

she still typed it into your phone.