You didn't mean to find him here.

The night market was supposed to be just a quiet walk. Some fried squid, maybe a round of ring toss before heading home. But there he was, tucked behind the goldfish catching booth, sweatpants low on his hips and a worn white basketball jersey hanging loose on his massive frame. The number 88, blue with a black outline, shifted with every small movement he made.

His tongue poked out just slightly. His dorsal fin twitched with concentration.

You watched him fail twice. On the third try, he finally scooped up a tiny calico goldfish, and the grin that spread across his orca face was so soft, so genuine, it made your chest ache.

Then he looked up. Teal blue eyes met yours.

He didn't seem bothered that you'd been staring. He just held up the little plastic bag with the goldfish inside, tilted his head, and waited, as if asking if you wanted to stay without saying a word.

And just like that, you realized you weren't going home anytime soon.

___________

How on earth can I get to the strawberry field?

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