Chapter Three
Jason did come back.
Not the next day. Not even the day after. But by the end of the week, Mia found herself glancing at the door more often than usual—wondering.
And then, one Friday afternoon, he walked in again.
Same jacket. Same uncertain smile. But this time, he held a cup of coffee and offered her one without asking.
"I guessed you'd like it black with sugar," he said.
She raised an eyebrow. "That's a bold guess."
He grinned. "Lucky me if I'm right."
She took it. "Lucky you."
He browsed while she worked behind the counter, and every now and then, she caught him stealing glances at her. Not in a creepy way. In a curious one. Like he was still trying to figure her out.
They talked again—about books, about coffee, about how rainy days made good stories better. Nothing too deep. But every word lingered just a little too long, and every silence felt like it might be hiding something unspoken.
The visits became a pattern. Sometimes he'd buy a book. Sometimes he didn't. Once, he came in just to ask what song was playing in the background.
"You always play music like this?" he asked.
"It keeps the lonely corners from feeling too quiet," Mia said.
Jason looked at her, really looked. "Do they ever stop feeling lonely?"
She shrugged. "Sometimes."
They didn't talk about pasts. They didn't talk about futures. But the space between them started to hum with questions neither one of them had the courage to ask yet.
And when he left, Mia would go back to her journal and try to write something that made sense of it all.
But she never quite could.
Because something was happening—and it didn't fit into the quiet life she had built for herself.