Chapter 2 The Electric Current of a Forgotten Life

The city street hummed with the mundane rhythm of everyday life—car horns blaring in the distance, the scent of exhaust mixed with fried food from a nearby vendor, the press of bodies moving with purpose. I was just one more person in the stream, my mind occupied with the simple errand my dad had sent me on. Then my shoulder brushed against a solid wall of a man in a tailored suit, and the world tilted.

It wasn't just a bump. It was a jolt, sharp and electric, that shot straight through my coat and into my chest, a familiar ache that had no business being familiar. My breath hitched. I stumbled back a step, my legs feeling strangely unsteady, as if the pavement had turned to water.

He froze. Completely. His head turned, and his dark eyes—deep enough to drown in—locked onto mine. The noise of the street faded to a dull roar. He was just staring, and I was staring back, trapped in a silence that felt heavier than any sound. There was a recognition in his gaze, a searching intensity that made my heart hammer against my ribs like a trapped bird.

"I… I know you," he said, his voice low, cutting through the haze around us. "I’ve been looking for you, haven’t I?"

The words should have been absurd. Creepy, even. But they landed with the weight of truth, settling deep in that aching place in my chest. My brain scrambled for logic, for the appropriate response a sane person would give a handsome stranger who said such things.

"Umm, I don't think so," I managed, my voice thinner than I wanted it to be. The denial was automatic, a shield against the overwhelming strangeness of the moment.

"Rizz!" My dad's voice cut through the tension from down the street, a grounding anchor to reality. "You get those sticks?"

"Yeah, coming Dad!" I called back, the sound startlingly loud. My gaze flickered away from the intense stranger for a second, and I saw my neighbor, Liam, waving from our porch. Sweet Liam, who I’d grown up seeing as a little brother, though the permanent blush on his cheeks whenever he saw me hinted at other feelings. "Ohh, he is also here," I muttered, more to myself than anyone.

The man—Alex, though I didn't know his name yet—didn't even glance toward Liam or my dad. His focus remained entirely on me, unbroken. A faint line appeared between his brows, a flicker of something old and possessive in the unfocused depths of his memory. He took a half-step closer, closing the small distance between us. The air around us seemed to grow warmer.

"Wait," he said, his voice dropping even lower, becoming almost intimate. "Before you go—can I get your name? Something tells me I can’t just let you walk away again."

The plea in his tone was undeniable. It wrapped around me, tugging at that inexplicable connection. My pulse was a frantic drumbeat in my ears. I felt a flush creep up my neck. This was insane. I should walk away.

"I'm sorry, I don't even know you," I whispered, but the protest was weak even to my own ears.

He moved then, his hand closing around mine. It wasn't aggressive; it was certain. The contact sent another, stronger current through me. Butterries erupted in my stomach, but they weren't the light, flighty kind. These were heavy, wild things with beating wings. My legs genuinely felt weak, threatening to buckle. The warmth of his palm was a brand.

"Umm, it's Rizz," I breathed, the name leaving my lips as a surrender.

A slow, familiar smile touched the corner of his mouth, as if I'd just confirmed something he'd always known. He didn't loosen his grip. Instead, his thumb stroked gently over my knuckles, a soothing, possessive gesture.

"Rizz," he said, holding my name softly, like a treasured thing, like a prayer he'd been waiting to utter. "I’m Alex. I think… I think we’ve been looking for each other our whole lives. Don’t go just yet."

"Rizz!!!??" My dad's voice was closer now, sharp with concern. He was striding toward us, his expression a storm cloud of paternal protectiveness. "Do you know this man???"

I looked from Alex's intense, hopeful face to my dad's alarmed one. Caught between two realities. "Umm..." was all I could muster, my mind a blank slate of confusion.

Alex immediately released my hand, but the loss of contact felt like a physical chill. He moved smoothly, the intense, vulnerable man replaced in an instant by someone polished and charming. A practiced, respectful smile settled on his face as he turned to my father, extending a hand.

"I'm Alex Ferguson, sir. We just had a little run-in here on the street—your daughter and I seem to have a lot more in common than we first thought."

My dad ignored the outstretched hand, his arms crossed over his chest. "Hm??" The sound was a grunt of pure skepticism.

Alex didn't miss a beat. He kept the warm smile firmly in place, but I felt the subtle brush of his fingers against the small of my back through my coat. It was a fleeting touch, a secret reassurance. He didn't push; his voice was calm, reasonable.

"I've been looking for someone a long time, sir. I think that someone is your daughter. I'd be grateful if you'd let me get to know her properly."

The directness of it stunned me. And my father. I looked up at my dad, my cheeks burning. That strange, thrumming ache in my chest intensified, a silent scream of affirmation. Alex stayed quiet beside me, his presence a steady, patient weight. His hand remained a gentle pressure on my back.

"Dad...." I began, my voice small. "I... I think I want to talk to him, dad. Just for a little while. Please?"

My dad's eyes narrowed. "I don't know but something does feel off here."

Alex shifted his weight, his posture remaining open and non-threatening. The respectful charm never slipped. He gave a small, easy nod. "I understand your concern, sir. I'd never do anything to hurt her. I just need a few minutes to talk—that's all I ask."

"I could never trust a random man walking up wants to talk to my daughter," my dad countered, his voice hard. "How do I trust your words, Mr. Alex?"

Without a moment's hesitation, Alex pulled his wallet from his inner suit pocket. He handed over his driver's license and a sleek work ID card, his expression completely open and sincere. He took a slight step back, giving my dad space, not wanting to seem pushy. But his eyes flicked to me, and in that brief glance, I saw a universe of quiet, desperate longing.

"You can check any of this. I live and work in the city, I have nothing to hide from her or you."

The situation was so bizarre, so tense, that my thoughts spiraled. A strange, impulsive idea bubbled up from the chaos in my mind, an intrusive thought born of overwhelming emotion. I didn't know why. It was madness. But I let the thought win.

"Alex," I said, my voice strangely calm.

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