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Miles, & Nat


Miles, 








&Nat.

•••




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Miles of space to play with

People like to believe the universe is some grand orchestrator, shuffling fate cards like a moody blackjack dealer. But sometimes, it just sits back with popcorn and watches two people fumble their way into a slow-burning disaster that smells vaguely of espresso and unresolved tension. Enter Nat and Miles, two souls with more chemistry than a freshman lab fire, and just about as much common sense. By now, I assume you know Miles a bit. So allow me to introduce Nat. Nat. Now there’s a piece of work the universe clearly cooked up on a cheeky day. All sharp wit, unreadable playlists, and the kind of elegance that doesn’t try, it just is. She walks into a room like she already knows the ending but still watches everyone else catch up. She’ll dissect a business pitch, write a blog that punches through your chest, and still look vaguely annoyed that you haven’t figured out how she takes her coffee (strong, like her opinions, with a splash of skimmed milk and quiet judgment). But don’t be foo...
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a few more Miles than just the Moon and back (:

There are two kinds of people in the world: the ones you meet, exchange pleasantries with, and promptly forget the moment they leave the room—and then there are the ones who, for no logical reason at all, get stuck in your head like a poorly-written pop song . The kind that shouldn’t linger but does, that worms its way into your subconscious, popping up at odd moments—when you’re tying your shoelaces, when you’re waiting for the kettle to boil, when you’re halfway through a meeting pretending to care about synergy but are actually wondering what someone drinks on a Saturday night. People never really choose which category someone falls into, and if Miles had been given the choice, he probably would’ve filed Her under forgettable and called it a day. Except he wasn’t given the choice. It wasn’t love at first sight, (blows raspberries) or even admiration. Nothing theatrical, no fireworks, no grand epiphany. Just five seconds. A glance across a jazz bar, a half-empty drink, a laugh h...
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Miles to go before I sleep.

If you asked Miles about that morning—months later, years later, in some dimly lit bar when his guard was down—he wouldn’t be able to tell you why it mattered. Not at first. He’d frown, tilt his head like he was trying to shake loose the answer, and maybe laugh it off, saying something dismissive like, “It was just a weird moment. Nothing, really.” But that would be a lie. Because the truth is, the world is full of people you meet and forget, faces that blur into a background you never bother to sharpen. And then, there are the ones who—without meaning to, without even trying—get stuck . Not because they want to be, but because, for one reason or another, your mind refuses to let them go. And that’s exactly how this started. Not with some grand revelation. Not with sparks flying or a moment that changed everything. Just four seconds. A flicker of something real in a woman who wasn’t supposed to be real to him. A moment so small it should have disappeared into the mess of his day, but ...
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