Blah blah blah—
The sounds of an argument buzzed loudly in Lance's ears, yet he couldn't make out a single word.
From afar, it looked like a man and a woman were in a heated dispute, voices rising and clashing in escalating waves of anger and frustration. In the otherwise empty diner, their shouting filled the space completely.
Half-dreaming, half-awake, Lance sat confused—unable to distinguish dream from reality. Amid the haze of swirling fatigue and murky light, he suddenly noticed a girl with elf-like pointed ears appear before him. Their eyes met by chance, and Lance blinked, disoriented.
"So… do you know what they're arguing about?"
The girl's eyes lifted—soft as mist, yet impossibly clear, like blue springs shimmering with calm. Light brown curls framed her youthful face, glowing with innocence and sunny warmth.
Just a second or two—but it was enough to be captivating.
Then—
She offered a polite smile. "Sorry. I only know they're speaking Italian, but my Italian won't be of much help."
Lance tilted his chin. "Italian? I thought it was German."
Pfft.
Talia Ryder couldn't hold in her laughter—Italian and German weren't remotely alike; clearly this tall guy was joking.
She had initially approached to ask if he wanted a refill of coffee. But the conversation had taken a turn.
Looking at him more closely, Ryder noticed his tired but bright eyes—a face still holding onto the glow of stardust, even amid weariness.
She set the coffee pot down and thought aloud.
"Have you heard that couples lose the ability to really hear each other after being together too long?"
Lance turned back to her. "Is that scientific research or just an old myth?"
Ryder's lips curled. "If you believe it, it's research. If not, it's just a rumor."
"Hah, good answer. Ten points to Gryffindor," Lance grinned. "So what's the story?"
Ryder stifled another laugh. "Apparently, men lose the ability to hear higher-pitched tones, and women can't hear low ones. I think they're just ignoring each other."
"Ohh." Lance nodded knowingly and turned to observe the couple—gesturing wildly, yelling, but never listening.
Images of Beyoncé and Jay-Z popped into his mind.
"So this is nature's balance? A way to keep couples from killing each other? Survival of the fittest, in a sense?"
Pfft.
Ryder chuckled again. "How so?"
Lance shrugged. "Not for each other—but to keep the world spinning in their own way. No need to change for anyone."
"Oh, that sounds kind of sad." Ryder tilted her head, studying him.
Lance chuckled softly. "Growing up is sad. Everything gets complicated. But thankfully, we can choose how to face it."
Ryder looked at him quietly, a flicker of interest dancing in her eyes. She hesitated, then gave in to curiosity. "How do you mean?"
Noticing the subtle warmth in her gaze, Lance felt slightly dizzy—despite staying sober all night caring for Mahomes and Kelce.
So, he changed the subject.
"Has anyone ever told you—you walk like a tilde?"
Ryder blinked. "A tilde?"
"Yeah," Lance smiled, "like the little squiggle over the Spanish 'ñ'."
Ryder laughed. "Oh my God, I know what a tilde is. I may be a simple, uncultured American who doesn't speak any other language—but I've tried Spanish, and French, and I failed at both. But at least I gave it everything I had."
The self-deprecation and humor lit the air between them.
Lance smiled too. "Don't worry. Secret's out—I'm not as impressive as I seem. For example, I don't speak Italian."
Ryder clamped a hand over her mouth, shoulders shaking with laughter.
Lance watched this elf-like girl, then slowly, his smile softened.
"Do you believe in soulmates?"
Ryder blinked. "What?" The topic shift caught her off guard.
"I said," Lance continued, "that we can choose how we face the world. For example, by keeping some innocent idealism alive."
Ryder nodded. "So… you believe in soulmates?"
"I do," Lance said without hesitation.
Ryder smiled, though she stayed quiet, clearly thinking something different.
Lance didn't mind. "I believe there are many soulmates for each of us, scattered all over the world."
Ryder's brow furrowed. "Many? I always heard it was just one—that's what makes them so rare. Some people don't even believe soulmates exist."
Lance shook his head. "No, I think we each have many soulmates. But for you, it might be different—you might have just a few. They might be your soulmates, but most of the world isn't."
"Why?"
"Because you don't believe in soulmates."
So certain. So firm.
Ryder tried to argue. "I never said I don't believe."
Lance just looked at her, saying nothing, his smile unwavering.
Ryder bit her lip, gave up, and changed the topic. "So how many soulmates do I have?"
Lance raised an eyebrow.
"I mean, what do you think? How many soulmates do I have?"
Lance paused thoughtfully, then gave a prophet-like answer. "Four."
"Four?"
"Yep. Four."
"Oh my God, that's a lot." Ryder looked astonished. "But I haven't met a single one yet."
Lance shook his head. "You have four soulmates. God will make sure you meet them. Maybe on the road—or in a 24-hour diner."
Ryder tilted her chin, giving him a long look, her eyes filling with quiet laughter.
Lance met her gaze, open and unflinching.
In the end, it was Ryder who gave in, quickly looking away—then lifting her eyes again. "And you? How many soulmates do you have?"
Lance pretended to think carefully, as if counting.
"About one thousand two hundred."
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Powerstones?
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