๐๐ฎ๐ง๐๐ฅ๐๐ ๐ข๐ง ๐ฒ๐จ๐ฎโฆ
๐ฐ๐จ๐ซ๐ ๐๐จ๐ฎ๐ง๐ญ :: 1.1k ๐ฌ๐ญ๐๐ซ๐ซ๐ข๐ง๐ :: Alex Turner ๐ฒ๐๐๐ซ :: 2010 ๐จ๐ฎ๐ญ๐ฅ๐ข๐ง๐ :: A chance encounter with Alex Turner at a record store leads to music talk, winter walks, and unexpected sparks.
๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐ smelled of old vinyl and faintly of coffee, a cozy scent that wrapped itself around her like the scarf she wore. The faint crackle of a forgotten jazz record spun softly in the background, almost drowned out by the chatter of a few customers milling about. She tugged her coat tighter around herself as she flipped through the 'B' section, humming quietly.
There was a kind of solace in being surrounded by rows of records, each sleeve holding a story, each title a small promise of escape. Her fingers glided over the smooth covers, pausing every now and then to pull one out and examine it.
A moment later, someone brushed past her shoulder, bumping her bag in the process.
โOh, sorry, my bad!โ
The voice was low, distinctly apologetic, and laced with a warmth that drew her attention immediately. She turned, her gaze landing on a guy standing a little too close. He wore a black coat that hung loose on his lean frame, his hair tousled like heโd just rolled out of bed, and his cheeks were flushed from the cold outside.
โItโs fine,โ she replied, adjusting her bag. Her eyes drifted to the vinyl in his hand. She couldnโt help herself. โWait, is that The Cribs?โ
He blinked, surprised by her sudden interest. โYeah. You know them?โ
โObviously,โ she said, a teasing grin tugging at her lips. โWhat kind of person hangs around the indie section without knowing The Cribs?โ
His expression softened, and he laughedโa rich, genuine sound that made something in her chest stir. โFair point,โ he admitted. โThough most people just think Iโm here for show.โ
She cocked her head, curiosity piqued. โOh yeah? Whyโs that?โ
โWell, uhโฆโ He scratched the back of his neck, his gaze darting away momentarily. โBecause of the whole Arctic Monkeys thing.โ
It took her a second to register what heโd said. Her eyes widened slightly. โWait. Youโre in The Arctic Monkeys?โ
โYeah,โ he said, almost bashfully. โAlex.โ
She stared at him for a beat, processing, before raising an eyebrow. โThe Arctic Monkeys? Really? Thatโs what you named your band? Bold choice.โ
For a moment, he just blinked at her, as if he hadnโt expected her to say that. Then, to her surprise, he broke into a grin, his demeanor instantly more relaxed. โAlright, fair enough. I didnโt come up with it, to be honest. I just went along with it.โ
โMm-hmm,โ she said, clearly enjoying how easily flustered he seemed.
โWhatโs your name, then?โ he asked, leaning casually against the shelf. But the way his fingers fidgeted with the record betrayed his nerves.
As she told him her name, she said with a smirk, โWhich means Iโm way ahead of you in the cool name department.โ
Alex laughed again, and she couldnโt help but notice the way it lit up his face. There was something about him, something disarmingly genuine, that made her want to keep talking to him. He nodded toward the vinyl she was holding. โSo whatโs your pick?โ
โThe Smiths,โ she replied, holding it up. โBit clichรฉ, I know.โ
โClichรฉ?โ He shook his head, his voice laced with sincerity. โThatโs a classic. Good taste.โ
She shrugged, tucking the record under her arm. โItโs just a little cold out. Thought Iโd listen to something warm and fuzzy tonight.โ
Alex hesitated, then smiled. โDo you want another recommendation? Thereโs a record I think youโd like.โ
โOh?โ
He handed her the one he was holding, his fingers brushing hers for just a second. โThe CribsโMenโs Needs, Womenโs Needs, Whatever. Proper good for this weather. And itโs warm, I promise.โ
โAlright,โ she said, her voice softening. โYouโve convinced me.โ
She paid for the record, and when they walked outside together, the crisp winter air greeted them with a biting chill. The streets were lined with glowing shop windows, the golden light spilling onto the pavement like little pockets of warmth. Alex shoved his hands deep into his coat pockets, glancing at her.
โCan I walk you somewhere?โ he asked. โYou know, to make up for nearly knocking you over earlier.โ
โSmooth,โ she teased, though the corners of her mouth curved up into a smile. โBut alright, sure.โ
They fell into step together, their breath visible in the cold air. Their conversation flowed easily, filled with music recommendations, terrible band names, and little snippets of their lives. She learned that he had a habit of jotting down lyrics on napkins and scraps of paper, and he learned that she was a sucker for rainy days and old bookstores.
โIโm not sure Iโve ever met anyone as passionate about The Smiths as you,โ he said at one point, his tone light and teasing.
โWell, someone has to be,โ she shot back, nudging him playfully with her shoulder.
When they reached her bus stop, she felt a small pang of disappointment. The warmth of his presence was something she hadnโt realized she needed until now.
He hesitated before speaking, his expression thoughtful. โHere.โ
Pulling out a pen from his coat pocket, he grabbed the receipt sheโd tucked into her bag and scribbled something on the back.
She glanced at itโa string of numbers and a small line of text underneath. I owe you a coffee and a band name better than Arctic Monkeys.
โText me,โ he said, his lips twitching into that lopsided grin that was starting to feel oddly familiar.
She laughed, the sound carrying over the whir of a passing car. โWeโll see.โ
As the bus pulled up, she turned back to him, clutching the record heโd recommended. โThanks for the music. And the walk.โ
โAnytime,โ he said softly, his eyes lingering on her.
She stepped onto the bus, her mind still buzzing with the warmth of their exchange. She settled into a seat by the window and pressed her fingers to the cool glass, watching as he stood there, hands in his pockets, looking up at her.
The bus began to pull away, and for a moment, she felt a strange kind of yearningโa hope that their paths might cross again. She glanced down at the receipt in her hand, a small smile tugging at her lips.
The record heโd recommended sat on her lap, and she made a mental note to play it as soon as she got home. Something told her it would be the perfect soundtrack to this moment, one she was sure sheโd replay in her mind again and again.
As the city lights blurred outside the window, she leaned back in her seat, her cheeks still warm despite the cold. She wasnโt sure what had just happened, but it felt like the start of something.
And maybe, just maybe, it was.
