The café was busier than usual, sunlight pouring through the big windows and catching on drifting specks of cinnamon from the espresso machine. Sophie followed Ryan behind the counter to the staff door that led to a small break room. It smelled faintly of roasted beans and laundry detergent.
He grabbed two mugs from a shelf and poured coffee from a fresh pot. "House blend okay?" he asked.
"Perfect," she said, perching on a stool by the window. From here, she could see the patio where students sat with laptops and paperbacks, the buzz of early semester excitement pulsing through the scene.
Ryan handed her a mug. "So, sociology." He smirked. "Did you pick it because you like the subject, or because it fit your schedule?"
"A little of both," she said, wrapping her hands around the warm ceramic. "I like trying to understand people. Even if they're complicated."
He laughed softly. "That's optimistic."
Sophie tilted her head. "You don't think people can be understood?"
"I think most people wear masks," he said. His voice was calm, but his eyes flicked toward the window, as if he were remembering something. "You see what they want you to see."
She didn't know what to say to that, so she sipped her coffee. Outside, a breeze lifted the pages of someone's notebook. Ryan followed her gaze and chuckled.
"That reminds me," he said, reaching into his bag. "You dropped this the other day." He slid a small spiral notebook across the table.
Sophie blinked. "Oh my gosh, I thought I lost this." It was her poetry notebook—the one she always carried but rarely showed anyone. Her fingers trembled slightly as she took it back. "Thank you."
"Didn't read it," he said quickly, raising his hands. "Just saw your name inside the cover."
She smiled, relieved. "I appreciate that."
He leaned forward, elbows on the table. "So you write?"
"A little," she admitted. "Mostly for myself."
"I get that." His expression softened. "I play guitar. Same reason."
Their eyes met, and for a moment the chatter of the café faded. Sophie felt a quiet click inside her chest—recognition, like discovering someone who spoke a language she'd been learning alone.
Ryan broke the gaze first, grinning as he stood. "I should get back to work. But hey—if you ever want someone to read your stuff, or… you know, listen to music, I'm around."
Sophie swallowed. "Maybe I will."
As she left the café a few minutes later, notebook tucked safely under her arm, she felt strangely light. The city didn't feel so foreign. Maybe she hadn't just found a favorite coffee shop—maybe she'd found the start of something else.