Lucky Break
Chapter 5 - Morning After
Leo woke to the sound of his own breathing.
This, in itself, was unusual.
Normally he surfaced from sleep the way people slipped into warm water—gradually, pleasantly, without sharp edges. Today consciousness arrived all at once, like a light being switched on in a room he hadn’t finished tidying.
He lay still, eyes open, staring at the ceiling.
Nothing was sitting at the end of the bed.
No angel. No weight. No smell of pine smoke. Just the familiar hairline crack above the light fitting, shaped vaguely like a country he couldn’t quite place.
Good, he thought. Or possibly, not good. It was becoming difficult to tell the difference.
He checked his phone.
6:12 a.m.
Too early for panic. Too late to fall back into real sleep.
Leo swung his legs out of bed and sat there for a moment longer than necessary, letting the day approach him instead of the other way round. His body felt heavy, but not in the pleasant, post-rest way. More like it had been carrying something all night and had only just been allowed to put it down.
He noticed the quiet, then realised it wasn’t silence he was aware of—it was absence. The lack of commentary. No internal voice assuring him this would all resolve itself neatly. No sense of the day arranging itself around his needs.
He stood, stretched carefully, and waited for the familiar sense of ease to arrive.
It didn’t.
The flat was quiet. No flickering lights this time. No ominous hums. The kitchen light worked when he switched it on, which annoyed him more than it reassured him. He didn’t like inconsistency masquerading as normality.
He filled the kettle and stood watching it, arms folded, as if daring it to misbehave.
It boiled. Clicked off. Behaved impeccably.
Leo sighed.
“See?” he told the empty room. “You can do it.”
He made toast. Ate it at the counter. The coffee tasted acceptable. Not good. Not bad. Merely present. He found himself cataloguing these things—taste, texture, temperature—as if keeping a ledger might help him spot a pattern before it spotted him.
Halfway through breakfast, he realised something else was different.
He wasn’t in a hurry.
Normally his mornings had a gentle momentum to them. A sense that the day was already arranged, waiting for him to catch up. Today felt open in a way that was faintly alarming. Not free—exposed.
The missed doctor’s appointment hovered at the edge of his mind, an unresolved chord.
He picked up his phone, thumb hovering over the call button.
Then he put it down again.
Not avoidance, he told himself. Just… deferral. A pause. Pauses were allowed now, apparently.
He showered, dressed, and stood in front of the mirror tying his shoes. He caught his own eye and paused. There was something in his expression he didn’t recognise—not fear exactly. Attention, maybe. A watchfulness that hadn’t been necessary before.
“You okay?” he asked his reflection.
The reflection didn’t answer, which felt like a missed opportunity.
He left the flat and walked without a destination in mind. The city was waking properly now. Shops opening. Buses sighing to a halt. People moving with purpose. Leo watched them with a mild envy. They all seemed to know where they were going—or at least believed they did.
He stopped at a café on a corner he didn’t usually frequent. Nothing special. No aesthetic ambition. Just coffee and chairs and a chalkboard menu that hadn’t been updated since enthusiasm peaked.
He ordered a flat white and took it to a table by the window.
The coffee was good.
That shouldn’t have mattered, but it did. He held the cup with both hands, letting the warmth sink in, and felt something in his chest loosen a fraction. It wasn’t relief so much as confirmation: the world still contained small competencies.
He took a sip, then another.
“Okay,” he murmured. “That’s something.”
Outside, people passed. A woman with a pram. A man arguing with his phone. A cyclist who looked dangerously optimistic. Leo watched them without trying to imagine their stories. He didn’t feel like narrating today. Observation felt like enough.
Halfway through his coffee, his phone buzzed.
A message from his sister.
RUTH:
You alive? Mum says you missed the doctor. Also, happy birthday, idiot.
Leo smiled despite himself.
He typed back.
LEO:
Alive. Marginally wiser. Will explain later.
Three dots appeared. Disappeared. Reappeared.
RUTH:
That sounds ominous. Don’t wait too long. You’re not mysterious enough to pull it off.
Leo snorted and put the phone away.
When he looked back up, he noticed her.
She was standing across the street, waiting to cross. Still. Unhurried. Cane resting lightly against the pavement.
Leo didn’t know why his attention snagged on her—only that it did, completely and without effort. He became aware, suddenly, of the way she occupied space. Not cautiously. Not defiantly. Precisely.
She wasn’t doing anything remarkable. No sudden movements. No drama. Just waiting, head tilted slightly as if listening to the city rather than watching it.
The light changed.
She stepped forward, cane tapping once, then again. Her movements were confident, practiced. People adjusted around her without seeming to realise they were doing it, their paths bending subtly to accommodate hers.
Leo felt something unfamiliar stir in his chest.
Not excitement. Not attraction, exactly.
Recognition.
As if she were navigating the world using a set of rules he had only just begun to suspect existed.
She passed out of frame, disappearing down the street. Leo found himself leaning forward, as if proximity alone might keep her there.
He sat back slowly, unsettled by the intensity of it.
This was new too.
Not luck. Not intervention.
Interest.
He finished his coffee and stood, hesitating for a moment before deciding which direction to go. When he stepped outside, he found himself turning the same way she had.
Not following, he told himself.
Just… choosing.
The pavement felt solid beneath his feet.
For now, that was enough.
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