The café was unusually quiet that night. The soft hum of the espresso machine and the faint rain tapping against the glass windows wrapped the place in a cocoon of calm.
Amara sat near the corner, her sketchbook open but untouched. Her mind was elsewhere, tugged between the chaos of deadlines and the unwelcome image of him.
Of course, as if summoned by her restless thoughts, Adrian appeared.
He walked in, the doorbell chiming softly as he entered. His gaze swept the café, finding her instantly, as though he'd known she would be there.
Her chest tightened. "Don't you have… better places to be?" she asked when he reached her table.
"Apparently not." His smile was easy, but his eyes—his eyes carried something heavier tonight.
Against her better judgment, she didn't chase him away. He sat across from her, folding his hands on the table, uncharacteristically serious.
"I've been thinking," he began.
She raised a brow. "That sounds dangerous."
He ignored her jab, his gaze fixed on her as though she were the only thing that mattered in the world. "You keep pushing me away, Amara. But what if I don't want to be pushed away?"
Her heart stuttered. The room suddenly felt smaller, the air thicker. "Adrian…"
"I know I annoy you," he said, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "But I also know you feel it too. The pull between us." His voice dipped lower. "Don't you?"
The question hung in the air like lightning before a storm.
Amara swallowed hard, unable to speak. She wanted to deny it, to shut him down—but her silence betrayed her. Her silence was its own confession.
Adrian leaned closer, his face inches from hers. For one dizzying heartbeat, she thought he would say it. The words her heart secretly longed to hear.
But then he stopped. Something flickered in his gaze—hesitation, fear, restraint. He leaned back slowly, breaking the spell.
"Forget it," he murmured, forcing a lighter tone. "Maybe I've had too much coffee."
Amara blinked, the ache of something unfinished gnawing at her chest. She wanted to demand he finish what he'd started, but her pride held her tongue.
They sat in silence after that, both pretending to be fine. Both knowing they weren't.
And as Adrian walked her out into the drizzle later, their hands brushed for the briefest moment—just a touch, fleeting, electric.
Neither spoke about it. But both felt it.
The confession was there, hanging between them like an unfinished sentence… waiting for the courage to be spoken.