I’ve always believed that some people are meant to cross our paths more than once. Call it destiny, call it coincidence, or call it a cosmic joke, but there was this stranger—this man—who kept showing up in my life as if the universe was trying to make a point I was too stubborn to understand.
The first time I saw him was on a rainy Tuesday. I was running late for work, juggling my coffee and my umbrella, when I nearly collided with him outside the little bookstore on Maple Street. He apologized, I apologized, and for a brief second, our eyes met. His smile was warm, and for a moment, the chaos of the morning slowed. I didn’t think much of it then, except that maybe I should stop clumsily balancing my latte and handbag in the future.
A week later, I saw him again at the farmer’s market. He was haggling over the price of honey, his grin so effortless that the vendor gave him an extra jar for free. I watched him from a distance, my basket full of peaches, wondering why my heart fluttered at the sight of someone I didn’t even know. I told myself it was silly. People live in the same city, shop in the same places. Coincidences happen all the time.
But coincidences have a funny way of stacking up.
It became a pattern—him appearing when I least expected it. At the park while I jogged. In line at the coffee shop. At the library when I was desperately trying to print a last-minute work document. Each time, we exchanged polite smiles, maybe a nod. Never more. I never got his name, and yet, each encounter lingered like the faint scent of a cologne you can’t quite place but never forget.
It wasn’t until one chilly autumn evening that everything changed. I had ducked into that same little bookstore to escape the drizzle. My hair was damp, my jacket dripping slightly onto the old wooden floor, when I heard a familiar voice behind me.
“You know,” he said with that easy smile, “if we keep running into each other like this, people might think it’s on purpose.”
I turned, and there he was, holding a paperback in one hand and an umbrella in the other. My heart did that annoying little flip again, and all I could manage was, “Maybe it’s fate.”
We laughed, and that was it—the wall between strangers crumbled. His name was Daniel. He loved mystery novels, hated coffee but drank it anyway for the caffeine, and worked as a graphic designer for a small firm downtown. We talked until the rain stopped, and then some. By the time we left the bookstore, I had his number, and for the first time, I was secretly hoping the universe would orchestrate another “chance” meeting.
From then on, seeing him wasn’t left up to fate. There were planned coffee dates, late-night phone calls, and quiet dinners where conversation flowed so naturally it felt like we had known each other for years.
But love isn’t always smooth.
Daniel was careful with his heart; I was reckless with mine. There were moments when I overthought everything, convinced that something so good couldn’t possibly be real. And there were moments when he pulled back, afraid of giving too much. But somehow, we always found our way back to each other.
One night, a few months in, we sat on the rooftop of my apartment building. The city lights twinkled below us, and the chill in the air was sharp but comforting.
“Do you believe in signs?” I asked, my voice quiet.
Daniel looked at me, his expression soft. “I don’t know. Maybe. But I think sometimes the universe keeps putting something in front of you until you’re ready to see it.”
I smiled, my heart full, and whispered, “Like you.”
He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he reached for my hand, his fingers threading through mine, steady and sure. And in that moment, I knew. I knew that every random encounter, every smile across crowded spaces, had been leading to this—us.
Years later, when people ask how we met, I always laugh and say, “The universe wouldn’t let me ignore him.” Because that’s what it felt like—like every twist and turn in my life had been nudging me toward him.
We’ve built a life together now—one filled with Sunday mornings at the farmer’s market, quiet evenings in that little bookstore, and road trips where we get lost on purpose just to find our way back together. There are still moments when I catch his eye across the room, and my heart does that same ridiculous flip it did the first time on Maple Street.
And sometimes, when the world feels uncertain, I think back to that rainy Tuesday, to the girl with coffee on her blouse and too many thoughts in her head, and I want to tell her: be patient. The stranger who keeps appearing in your life? He’s not just a stranger. He’s the beginning of everything.
Because sometimes love doesn’t announce itself in fireworks or grand gestures. Sometimes it’s quiet, persistent, and patient, waiting for you to notice. And when you finally do, you realize it’s been yours all along.
Even now, years later, when Daniel slips his hand into mine, I still think to myself: thank you, universe, for the stranger who kept appearing until he was mine.
