One Episode of Dramatic Irony

Some people walk our footsteps, and we wouldn't ever realize it until a torrential rain corners you in that bakery store you haven't visited since 2008.
I came in because I felt like some pastry, because I needed the bathroom, but mostly because I wanted to shelter from the rain in a place that reminded me of him. I came in and bought the worst piece of cake ever - I had the idea they were terrific in the past, and there I saw this blond princess that reminded me of Tinkerbell right away. She was having a piece of bread, just that, no drink, no coffee, just the mouthful of baked, inflated flour. If her looks weren't enough to give her away as a foreigner, her big blue back pack would and her feeble, soaked umbrella would do the job.
My first thought as a foreigner collector and as a magnet for damsels in distress was to approach her and start a conversation, but I was too wet to add rejection to my list of things that had gone wrong in my day - the cake included, and the book I brought to remain enclosed in myself was too good to stop reading.
I would raise my sight to check if she was still there for a while until, for my relief and distress, she left. She took her Norse and alien-like look through the door, and I thought that she, as it has happened with many strangers I'm fond of while in my range, would disappear from my life. But the vice of smoking took me to the supermarket across the street just to find her buying bananas. Bread and bananas: people who know a bit about my adventures and about the novel that they inspired know how important bread and bananas are for me. They're the only way in which you can keep your meal for less than a dollar without fainting or starving to death. That's what Vlad and I ate back then in 2008 because we had either bought a big bottle of wine or because the day's budget was no more than 2 dollars. And there I had a lady following our steps, doing the same thing in the exact same places...
I paid for the cigarettes and walk away smiling. "We were first" I thought, "and this story will be mine when I finally publish this novel that talks about it." But how do I know how many people came before us and have done the same to save some money? I thought she would disappear when I resumed my walking under the raindrops that pounded against my umbrella... but the truth is that this girl is going to stay in my head for a season at least.

I call it one episode of dramatic irony because the viewer, me, knows how the story goes.