I still remember our first meeting. It wasn’t dramatic or cinematic. There was no slow motion, no background music, no sudden spark that changed everything. It was just normal.

  College had just started, and classes were still online. One afternoon, my phone rang. An unknown number. I almost ignored it, but something made me answer.

  On the other side was a girl with a soft, steady voice. She was calling about our studies. We discovered we shared all three subjects. It felt like coincidence at first — maybe even a small sign — like the universe quietly arranging something without telling us.

  We started talking more after that. What began as simple conversations about assignments slowly turned into longer calls. Two strangers became familiar voices in each other’s days. Over two months, the unknown number turned into someone I looked forward to hearing from.

  Then came the day we were finally going to meet.

  I had spoken to her countless times, but I had never seen her. I remember spotting her standing at the SkyTrain station. When I first looked at her, she didn’t seem extraordinary. She wasn’t glowing or surrounded by some magical aura. She was just a normal college girl, waiting for her train.

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  I walked up, said hello, and we talked for a few minutes before boarding. Then we left for college together.

  It was simple.

  And at that moment, I had no idea how important that ordinary meeting would become in my life

  Most days passed quickly and felt almost identical — routine, quiet, forgettable. But the days she called felt different. They felt slower, fuller, as if I was present inside them.

  She would call me around seven in the evening, just after finishing work. Her journey home usually took nearly two hours, and during that entire ride, we would stay on the phone. What began as simple conversations about college slowly became part of my daily rhythm.

  Sometimes she would call just to complain about an assignment. She would sound completely frustrated, as if it were the end of the world. And then, five minutes later, she would forget what she was even upset about. Her mood changed quickly — intense for a moment, then suddenly normal again, as if nothing had happened.

  She talked a lot. About her day. About small things people said. About how someone’s comment could completely ruin her mood. She would get upset easily, explain every detail, and then, almost just as quickly, move on.

  And somewhere in between those long evening calls, I noticed something about myself.

  Whenever her name appeared on my phone, I would start smiling without realizing it. Sometimes I would catch myself grinning during our conversations, even when she wasn’t saying anything particularly funny.

  It was strange how something so ordinary — a two-hour phone call during a bus ride — began to feel like the best part of my day.

  At that time, I didn’t question it. I didn’t analyze it.