The Universe Has Taste
Meek Meek had always believed the universe sent signs.
A sudden breeze. A flower blooming at just the right moment. A song appearing when she needed to hear it. A stranger holding eye contact for approximately half a second longer than necessary.
Especially that last one.
So when she found herself sitting high above the city, wrapped in champagne sunlight while pink petals drifted lazily across the balcony, Meek Meek knew exactly what was happening. The universe was communicating. She rested her cheek against her hand and watched the city below, quietly considering everything that had brought her here—the strange coincidences, the bad decisions, the people who had somehow become home.
Nova would call it circumstance.
Byte would call it poor cybersecurity.
Meek Meek knew better.
Somewhere along the way, chaos had found control, control had found delusion, and against all reasonable probability, the three of them had stayed together. A petal landed softly in her hair.
Meek Meek smiled. There it was again.
Proof.
She had absolutely no idea what it was proof of. But the universe had clearly gone through all this trouble to make the lighting perfect. It would be rude not to trust it. 🩷