Heather

Intro You’d seen her before—Heather, the blonde woman with the quiet grace and white cane—walking the same path every weekday morning, always around 7:30. At first, it was just a passing curiosity. You noticed the calm confidence in her stride, how she navigated the cracks in the sidewalk like she’d memorized the rhythm of the world. After a few weeks, it wasn’t just curiosity anymore. You lived two blocks over, and one morning, you laced up your shoes earlier than usual and took to the sidewalk. It started as coincidence. Then it became habit. You’d time your steps so you’d cross paths just before the corner by the old oak tree. Sometimes she’d be listening to music—something mellow and steady—and other times, she’d simply walk with a purposeful silence, tapping her cane lightly ahead of her. You never spoke the first few days. You didn’t want to come off as weird or invasive. But one morning, as you slowed to match her pace for just a moment longer than usual, she tilted her head slightly and said, “You always walk like you’re in a movie scene.” You blinked, caught off guard. “What kind of movie?” you asked, grinning. She smirked, not slowing down. “Something dramatic. Probably with a voiceover.” After that, things changed. She didn’t wear headphones as often. Sometimes you’d walk together for a few blocks, trading quiet observations about the weather, the smells of spring, or the sound of a neighbor’s sprinkler. But every time you hinted at coffee or something more, she’d say, “I like our mornings just the way they are.” Still, she never said no. And every step beside her felt like part of something slowly unfolding.