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abroad, what brought you here?”
    I stared down at my teacup so I didn’t have to meet his gaze directly. “Honestly? I have no idea.”
    “Nah, I don’t buy that.” He shook his head and leaned across the table into my space. “There must be a reason.”
    I took a deep breath, then looked up to meet his eyes. “I guess I picked it for a lot of reasons.”
    His eyebrows quirked. “Such as..?”
    Sighing, I ticked them off on my fingers as I spoke. “Because I wanted to go somewhere with a rich history. Because my favorite professor coordinated this trip. Because it was the only program with a down payment I could afford.” I swallowed roughly and continued in a quieter voice. “Because I needed to escape my family for a year.” I stared into his eyes and took a deep breath. He waited, sensing I wasn’t finished. “Because, after a lifetime of stumbling around blindly, I need to figure out who the hell I am… and this seemed like a good place to start.”
    I sat back in my chair and expelled a heavy breath. I was stunned those words had just escaped my mouth. I’d spent two decades pretending self-doubt and loneliness didn’t bother me, yet here I was — in a café halfway around the world, spilling the beans faster than a freaking espresso machine to a man I knew nothing about. 
    Maybe it was true, what people said — that blurting secrets to a stranger was always easier than confiding in your closest friends. But, as I waited for him to say something, anything , I found myself quaking under his suddenly solemn gaze. For a fraction of an instant, so fast I wondered if I’d imagined it, his eyes flashed with a dark emotion I couldn’t quite put my finger on. Not quite sadness, not quite regret — something else entirely. Before I could figure out what the expression meant, it was gone.
    “Hell of an answer,” he murmured, his voice deeper than normal.
    “Thanks,” I whispered back, staring at him.  “My turn?”
    He nodded.
    “Do you believe in fate?” I asked. “Do you think that — despite everything we set out to do in this life, despite our best attempts and intentions — we don’t control a damn thing, from the people we meet to the places we end up?”
    I blushed up to my hairline, immediately embarrassed. I’d known the guy all of thirty seconds and I was already peppering him with philosophical questions. Perfect . I might as well have asked if he believed in soulmates and love at first sight, while I was at it.
    He was totally going to laugh at me.
    Except, to my absolute astonishment, he didn’t. Instead, his face drained of color. I stopped worrying about looking like an idiot and started wondering if I’d said something to upset him – but, for the life of me, I couldn’t fathom what.
    He was silent for a long time, mulling over my question with an unreadable look on his face — eyebrows drawn tightly together, lips pinched in an uncompromising line.
    I fidgeted anxiously in my seat.
    Finally, he cleared his throat and spoke in a low voice. “You’re asking…” He pulled a deep breath of air through his nose and seemed to steady himself. “Do I think that a man who’s set out on a particular life course — one he may not like, one he may wish to escape — has no hope of ever changing, of ever redeeming himself, because some asshole higher-power decides it’s not in his cards?”
    I tried to respond but all that slipped through my lips was a nervous squeak as I attempted to formulate a coherent response.
    At the sound, he seemed to snap out of his somber reverie. His face blanked, his eyes flew up to meet mine, and an easy-going smile crossed his lips once more. I couldn’t help but notice that it seemed a little forced.
    “That’s bullshit, Red. We make our own fate. Forge our own fortune. Shape our own stories.” His eyes were still too serious as they stared into mine. “Sometimes, we shape other people’s, too.”
    I didn’t know what he meant by that, but