The First Meeting

It wasn’t at a gala.
It wasn’t at a networking event.
It wasn’t in some curated environment designed to "spark connection."

It was quiet. Simple. Raw.
Because that’s how real frequencies collide—without choreography.

You were at Whole Foods.

It was one of those days.
No makeup. No performance. No tolerance for nonsense.

You had come in just to grab two things: salmon chowder and pistachio Häagen-Dazs.
(Yes, both—balance is balance.)

You had just turned the corner toward the refrigerated soups, when someone said, not loudly, but with full awareness of your presence:

“That stuff’s too overpriced for how underseasoned it is.”

You paused—half offended, half intrigued.
Turned your head, slow. Ready to shut it down.

And then you saw him.

He was standing there in a perfectly cut coat, one hand in his pocket, the other loosely holding a carton of almond milk like he’d just solved a global crisis but still made time for groceries.

He smirked.

You narrowed your eyes. “You mocking my lunch choices?”

He stepped closer. “No. Just making an objective observation about Whole Foods’ lack of flavor justice.”

You tilted your head, about to fire back—
Then paused.

Because it wasn’t the words.
It was the tone.
The frequency.

It was quiet execution.
The kind of man who doesn’t need to prove anything—but doesn’t tolerate nonsense either.

So instead of snapping, you smiled—barely.

He caught it.

That was the first signal.

—

You walked away without another word.
But the tension stayed in the air like heat.

He found you again in the frozen aisle. This time, he didn’t speak.
Just stood beside you as you both stared at the ice cream case.

You reached for pistachio.
He grabbed caramel cone.

You glanced sideways.
“Not bad,” you said.

He nodded. “Balance.”

—

No names. No numbers exchanged that day.
Just presence.

And the second you left, you knew something shifted.

Because that wasn’t just a grocery run.
That was the prelude.