A lonely man. A bit of hope. A fever dream. "The odds of love, like every other game, are purely random. Contrary to popular belief, true randomness in nature occurs both in scattered points and simple clusters. If we gather enough data, we might be fortunate enough to find a correlation. However, much like other aspects of life, we cannot perfectly predict the patterns of uncertainty." His feelings of loneliness left him jaded. His obsession with work slowly consumed his life.  Time was slipping away, like sand through a sieve. He hates when the sun rises, always yearning for it to set.  He doesn't have friends, just an acquaintance named James. But he knows of a woman. She's always in a hurry. He never got the chance to strike up a conversation, or even ask for her name. Yet, something about her always struck him as familiar.  "I wish I knew her," he mumbled.