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You dropped your books in the fiction section, and I helped pick them up. I wanted to say something witty about our “storybook meeting,” but I froze. If you’re free for coffee and overdue library jokes, let’s reconnect.

We shared an umbrella for about three minutes while waiting out a sudden downpour by Cloud Gate. I almost asked for your number but chickened out when the sun came back. I owe you a dry afternoon and maybe some hot cocoa.

You sat across from me on the Blue Line, headphones in, sketching in your notebook. We exchanged a few shy smiles before you got off at Belmont. If you remember the guy with the neon green backpack, coffee’s on me.