The garden café was nothing fancy no menus printed on stone, no violins in the corner. Just an open space with quiet plants and chairs that didn't match.
That's what Luna liked.
It didn't pretend to be anything more than it was.
A place to sit. To breathe. To be.
Dawn had suggested it not because it was romantic, but because it was uncomplicated. And maybe, on some level, he knew that's what she needed right now. Not answers. Not declarations. Just air.
They sat under a lemon tree with an old fan creaking somewhere nearby. The breeze carried the smell of bread and sun-dried wood.
Why do I feel like I've been here before? Luna asked, eyes scanning the simplicity.
Maybe you have, Dawn said, sipping calmly. This place doesn't try to be new. Just present.
She nodded, half-listening, more focused on the way he sat across from her relaxed, composed, like he wasn't sure if he was on a date or being studied.
You're quiet, he noted.
I'm loud when it matters, she replied.
He smirked. So I haven't mattered yet?
I didn't say that.
Silence again but not awkward. Just loaded.
A child laughed across the café. Someone poured tea. The world didn't stop spinning.
The ride back was just as quiet.
Dawn didn't play music. Luna didn't ask why.
The road moved beneath them in slow rolls. Headlights from passing cars painted shadows across her face, but she didn't blink them away. She looked ahead. Calm. Sharp.
Near her junction, she broke the silence.
I'm not in the mood to go in yet.
You want me to keep driving?
No, she said. I want to stretch the moment.
He gave her a side glance, calculating.
Come up then. Just sit. Talk. Nothing heavy.
I don't do heavy unless I'm lifting it.
That made him chuckle short, genuine.
His place wasn't loud either. Dim lighting. Clean. Not overly neat but lived in.
She walked in like she had done it before. No heels clicking, no gasping at the artwork. Just a slow scan and a seat taken without asking.
He handed her a drink. She placed it on the table. Didn't sip.
You're not curious? he asked, sitting across from her.
About your space?" She shrugged. I'm curious about what you do in it. Not what's in it."
That caught him off guard. She could see it.
He leaned back, watching her like a chess piece he hadn't figured out yet.
You always this direct?
No," she said. "Sometimes I'm worse.
Another pause.
You look like someone who keeps the lights on even when the room is empty, she said suddenly.
He raised a brow. Meaning?
You don't like admitting when you're alone.
He let out a breath not annoyed, just… found out.
You've got a strange way of reading people.
You've got a strange way of letting them sit this close.
He looked down at the space between them.
They hadn't moved. But they were close. Intimately close.
She didn't shift. Neither did he.
You kissed me once, he said, voice lower now.
You didn't stop me.
I didn't want to.
And now?
He didn't answer immediately. Instead, he leaned forward just enough for their breath to touch — but not their lips.
Now I'm wondering if you want to kiss me again.
She smiled — not soft. Not bold. Just sure.
I want to leave before I do.
He sat back.
Respecting it.
Let me drop you.
You already did, she said, rising.
He didn't follow her to the door. She didn't expect him to.
But right before she opened it, she turned slightly.
Thanks for not making this weird.
Thanks for not making this easy.
Then she stepped out, her shadow disappearing into the hall light.
She walked out into the night like nothing had just happened. No kiss. No flinch. No backpedal.
But her pulse was still running.
She didn't pause to look back. Not because she didn't want to but because if she did, she'd ask herself questions with no answers.
The elevator ride was quiet. A man inside glanced at her and looked away just as fast. She smiled inwardly. People always expected emotion to be loud. But sometimes, it walks on heels and exhales silently.
When she got home, her mother was still awake, shuffling around the kitchen with a wrapper tied carelessly over her chest.
You smell like outside, she muttered without looking up.
Because I was outside, Luna replied, kicking her shoes off.
No questions followed. No where did you go? or who were you with?
Her family had long stopped trying to understand her schedule.
She walked into her room, peeled off her clothes, and sank into her bedsheet like it had answers.
But her body still carried the feeling of him. Not his touch his air.
That calm weight he brought into rooms without asking permission. That way he said little but always left too much behind.
She picked up her phone, stared at the screen.
No messages. Of course not.
But this time, she didn't wait.
Her thumbs moved quickly:
Whatever that moment was… I'm open to seeing it again. But on my terms next time.
She read it twice before sending it. No emoji. No fluff. Just presence.
She dropped the phone and turned on her side.
POV:
Sometimes silence is power.
And sometimes power is knowing when to break it
The next morning felt too normal.
She brushed her teeth. Folded laundry. Read an article about postmodern journalism she didn't care about.
Then her phone buzzed.
Ben.
Are you free this evening? I want to show you something.
She stared at the screen, blinked, then replied.
Where and what?
You'll see. Just don't wear heels.
Ben was her friend. Her honest, annoying, always-watching friend. If he noticed anything about her lately, he hadn't said much. But that text felt like a breadcrumb.
Maybe tonight wouldn't be about Dawn.
Maybe it would be about Luna and the version of her that existed before all this started.
POV:
You can want someone deeply... and still need space from what they awaken in you
Her phone lit up again.
Dawn's name.
Your terms. Interesting!!!