As he fumbled for a spare pen, a gust of wind caught a loose sheet of paper from a woman’s sketchpad nearby. It tumbled through the air and landed squarely over his open planner. Elias went to brush it away, but he stopped. It was a charcoal drawing of the very bench he was sitting on—but in the drawing, the bench was empty, surrounded by vibrant, messy strokes representing the wind he had never bothered to notice.
Elias looked at his dry pen, then at the sketch, and finally at the woman. "Actually," he said, surprised by his own voice, "I think I was exactly where I was supposed to be." PLANNES
The woman, breathless, approached him. "I'm so sorry! It wasn't planned to fly away like that." As he fumbled for a spare pen, a