Amélia turned the corner with measured steps, her heart beating in a controlled rhythm. The fitted blouse, the precisely tied hair, the discreet perfume — everything chosen to look casual, but not careless. She spotted the café ahead, and through the window, saw Thomas already seated, scrolling on his phone with a cup of coffee beside him.
She smiled, almost imperceptibly, and quickened her pace.
"That's a lot of effort for someone who's not trying to impress."
The voice came from behind. Warm. Familiar. Invasive.
Amélia stopped. Her body reacted before her mind. She turned slowly.
Rafa was there, leaning against a post, black T-shirt clinging to his chest, arms relaxed, hair tied in a loose bun. The smile was the same — sharp, confident, with that glint of someone who knows exactly the effect he causes.
"You stalking me now?" she said, trying to keep her tone firm.
"I don't stalk. I just notice." He stepped forward, his eyes scanning her body like reading a physical report. "You've been working out. I can see it. Glutes perkier. Shoulders tighter. Posture... different."
Amélia crossed her arms, uncomfortable. Not because of the compliment — but because of the precision.
"You always talk like you're prepping for a scene."
"Maybe I am." He tilted his head, voice lower. "You're sculpted. Sculpted to me."
She looked away, trying to break the moment. Looked inside the café. Thomas saw her. Smiled. Raised his cup in a light gesture, as if to say "I'm here." Amélia waved back, awkwardly, with a smile that didn't quite fit her face.
Rafa followed her gaze. "So that's the guy?"
"That's the guy."
"He looks soft."
"That's the point."
Rafa smiled, like he already knew.
"Of course he does." He ran his tongue across his teeth, like savoring an idea.
"Just remember — he's going to compliment what I already know by heart."
Rafa laughed, but not mockingly. With something closer to restrained desire.
"Just don't forget — softness doesn't erase memory."
He walked past her slowly, without touching, but leaving behind his scent, his heat, the weight of his presence.
Amélia stood still for a second.
She took a deep breath. The smell of coffee came like an invitation to lightness. But her body still carried the heat from before. She adjusted her hair, fixed her smile. She needed to look present. Even if she was still somewhere else.
Then she walked in.
Thomas stood slightly, adjusted the chair, smiled wide. Inside, everything was lighter. But Rafa was still clinging to her skin. Like sweat after a workout. Like a scene that won't leave your mind.
"Hey. You look great."
Amélia smiled back, trying to adjust her face to the moment. She sat down, arranged her bag on her lap, ran her hand through her hair like erasing traces. Her body still carried the heat from before — as if her skin hadn't realized the scene had changed.
Thomas pointed with his chin, curious:
"Who was that guy outside?"
Amélia froze for a second. Her body reacted before her mind — again. She picked up the coffee cup already on the table, as if the movement were an answer. Her hand trembled slightly, but she pretended it was just the cold.
"Just someone from work."
Thomas tilted his head slightly.
"He seemed... intense."
Amélia gave a short laugh, humorless. The kind of laugh that doesn't reach the eyes.
"He's always like that. It's nothing."
Thomas didn't insist, but his gaze lingered on her longer than necessary. Amélia looked away, stirred her coffee like trying to dissolve what she didn't want to feel.
She changed the subject with surgical precision:
"So, how's your week been? Still buried in spreadsheets?"
He accepted the shift, smiling.
"Always. But I'm glad you're here. You're a good reason to stop looking at numbers."
Amélia nodded, still stirring her coffee. The taste in her mouth wasn't just coffee — it was memory, tension, effort. But she was there. Trying.
Thomas stirred his coffee, thoughtful. The silence between them had already become comfortable, but there was something he needed to know.
"Is he your ex?"
Amélia looked at him, surprised. Not by the question — but by its accuracy. She looked away toward the counter, as if searching for an answer not on the menu.
"Not exactly."
Thomas waited. Didn't press. But didn't look away either.
"That sounds exactly complicated."
She laughed, this time more genuinely.
"It is. But today I'm here. With you. And this is simple."
Thomas smiled, raising his cup like a casual toast.
"Then let's keep it simple. At least until the second coffee."
She smiled back. Her body began to relax. Her skin still carried the heat from before, but the air inside was different — lighter, sweeter, more possible.
"You always choose places like this?" she asked, looking around.
"Places like what?"
"That feel like they're hugging you without touching."
Thomas laughed, adjusting his glasses.
"I like places that don't shout. There's already too much noise out there."
Amélia nodded. The world out there was full of loud voices. Inside, everything was quieter. Gentler.
"And you?" he asked. "Is there a place that makes you feel... less like you're running?"
She thought for a moment, stirring her coffee with the spoon.
"There's a bookstore near my house. Small, kind of messy. There's an armchair no one uses, and a window that catches the afternoon sun. Sometimes I sit there and pretend I don't have a phone."
"That sounds like paradise."
"It is. But it only works when no one interrupts me."
Thomas looked at her with sincere curiosity.
"And when they do?"
"I become someone else." She shrugged. "Sometimes it's easier to be someone else than to explain who you are."
Thomas stayed silent for a moment, then spoke calmly:
"I like you like this. No explanation."
Amélia smiled, surprised by the simplicity of the phrase. It wasn't a compliment. It was a statement.
"I like me here too."
They drank their coffee in silence for a few seconds. Outside, the sun dripped through the leaves of the trees. Inside, time seemed to slow down.
Thomas leaned his elbows on the table, his body gently inclined.
"Can I ask you a weird question?"
"Only if it's good."
"If you were a season, which one would you be?"
Amélia laughed, catching the question like someone catching an unexpected flower.
"Autumn." She answered without thinking. "Because it's beautiful, but doesn't try to please. And because everything seems to be changing, even when it's still."
Thomas smiled, enchanted.
"I'd be spring. Because I'm kind of silly and I like seeing things bloom."
"Makes sense. You look like someone who talks to plants while watering them."
"I thought you'd say I look silly."
Amélia let out an involuntary laugh.
"You're not silly — you're sweet."
He laughed, this time with his whole body.
"Was that a compliment?"
Amélia rested her chin on her hand, still smiling.
"It was. But don't get used to it."
Thomas pretended to take mental notes.
"Okay. One compliment per coffee. I'll pace myself."
She shook her head, laughing. The mood between them was light, almost childlike, but with an intimacy that grew slowly. The conversation didn't try to prove anything — it just existed.
"Have you always been like this?" she asked. "Calm, kind... kind of spring?"
"I don't know. You tell me. If anyone knows me well, it'd have to be you."
Amélia watched the way he said it. No pose. No intention to impress.
"You've always been sweet. A gentle breeze."
Thomas smiled, surprised.
"Does that count as another compliment?"
"No. That was a fact."
She laughed again, more freely. Her body no longer carried the weight from before. The air in the café seemed to have entered her lungs with more space.
"Okay, my turn."
She thought for a second, with a mischievous smile.
"Are you single?"
Thomas paused for a moment, as if the question had come with an unexpected breeze. It wasn't provocation. It wasn't a joke. It was honest curiosity, wrapped in coffee and comfortable silence.
He placed his cup gently on the saucer, as if not wanting to break the moment.
"I am." He paused briefly, then added with a soft smile: "And I'm not in a hurry to change that. But I'm not running from it either."
Amélia nodded, looking at the foam in her coffee as if it had something to say.
"Good to know."
Thomas leaned in slightly, his eyes attentive, but without pressure.
"And you?"
She thought for a second. Not about status — but about what to say.
"I'm... available." She laughed, a bit shy. "In the broadest sense of the word."
"Available is beautiful." He smiled. "Like having the window open, just to let the air in."
Amélia looked at him, surprised by the image.
"You always talk like that?"
"No... Only with you."
She shook her head, smiling. The air between them was light, but full of possibilities