Lucia Love And Zara Durose 100%

Lucia Love had always been the kind of person who believed in signs. A double rainbow, a stray cat crossing her path left to right, a song playing on the radio at the exact moment she thought of someone—she collected them like charms on a bracelet. Zara Durose, on the other hand, believed in nothing she couldn’t hold in her hands.

Zara touched her bare earlobe. “So I did.” She took it, their fingers brushing. “Thanks.”

They talked until the market closed. Then they walked three blocks to a 24-hour diner and talked until the waitress started mopping around their feet. Lucia learned that Zara had moved to the city six months ago after leaving a PhD in astrophysics (“too much math, not enough wonder”) and was trying to figure out what came next. Zara learned that Lucia worked at a small press editing poetry collections (“I like being close to words that hurt beautifully”) and lived in a studio apartment with too many plants and a cat named Pippin. lucia love and zara durose

“No,” Zara said, and she was almost smiling. “It’s better. Signs are messages from the universe. You’re right here.”

“Can I try?” Lucia asked.

Zara’s hand, still over Lucia’s on the clay, tightened just slightly. “And what does the sign say?”

“What’s right in front of you now?” Lucia Love had always been the kind of

They met on a Tuesday, which Lucia later decided was a very underrated day for fate to do its work.