prologue : lonely 

❝as for now i'm gonna
hear the saddest songs
and sit alone and wonder.❞

Long and thin fingers gripped the luggage tag while his hand pressed his cellphone to his ear. For the third time, the call went to voice mail. A tired sigh exited his lips as he re-dialed the number again.

Keanu Reeves was in a slight predicament. He had a black luggage that carried clothes and other travel essentials but the only thing was that it wasn't his. His eyes examined the luggage tag again to make sure that he was dialing the correct number.

Cordelia Evans.
̶B̶o̶u̶n̶d̶ ̶f̶o̶r̶ ̶H̶o̶n̶o̶l̶u̶l̶u̶,̶ ̶H̶a̶w̶a̶i̶i̶.̶
Bound for Los Angeles.
xxx-xxx-xxxx

The only thing he thought of (other than why the hell wasn't the owner picking up her cellphone) was that Cordelia was a pretty and elegant name.

The edge of a paper caught his eye. It was shoved in one of the pockets and Keanu knew he shouldn't have gotten it and smoothed it out and read what was written in messy and almost illegible handwriting. But, sad to say, curiosity got the best of him. The entry read: 

There are roughly seven billion people in the world. How the hell am I still searching for the one? 

I've got three hours left in this flight and I could only watch so many episodes of Friends. And, I think I've fallen for Joey Tribbiani all over again.

Chris is getting married in three days. He's lucky he found Bambi. Also, dang, I can't believe he actually found a woman who was willing to put up with his shenanigans. I always thought it would be me and him who would remain single for the rest of our lives within our family. Guess I was wrong.

Ugh. This journal entry is just a mess. My thoughts are a mess.

Anyway, I'm not being ungrateful, right? For wanting someone to love me like how Chandler loves Monica. Or Corey and Topanga. Or Rose and Jack.

There's a moment every day where I just look at everyone around me and I see them with their significant others—laughing, kissing, being happy.

I'm surrounded by blessing after blessing every day. I have an astounding career in medicine. I have good and supportive friends and a bearable family. Hell, I make 350K per year and help people not die—I'm a freaking witch with crazy spells! (At least, that's what my Dad tells me.)

I've been told that women shouldn't depend on someone to make them thrive or feel alive. That this isn't the sixties. I've been told that I'm brilliant and independent and strong. But. . .

Why am I so lonely? 

Whoever this woman was, Keanu's heart ached at her sadness. He knew the feeling very well. It was the type of melancholy you felt where you say I can do this on my own while also hoping that someone would lend their shoulder for you to cry on or make you laugh at the end of a  bad day. Because, it's nice to have someone there for you. 

Keanu tucked the paper to where he found it and made it his mission to tell this Cordelia Evans that, if she was as lonely as she said she was, then she wasn't the only one. 

TEXT TO: CORDELIA EVANS 

Hello! We seem to have switched our luggage. Can you text me where you are so I can go to you? Please reply when you see this. Sorry for the inconvenience. 

TEXT SENT!