The next evening, Samuel sat in the café again, his book in front of him but his mind somewhere else. He kept glancing at the door without meaning to. Every time it opened, his heart gave a small jump. He felt silly, like a boy waiting for something he couldn't even explain.
And then she walked in.
Ada. She wore a simple dress, her hair pulled back neatly, her face calm but her eyes still carrying that hidden sadness. When their eyes met, she gave a small smile, the kind of smile that said, I wasn't sure you would be here, but I hoped.
Samuel stood halfway and gestured to the seat across from him. "It's free."
She walked over and sat down. "I told myself not to come," she admitted. "But somehow my feet brought me here."
Samuel gave a small laugh. "Maybe your heart brought you."
Ada looked down at her hands, but a soft blush colored her cheeks.
---
For a while, they spoke about little things again — the weather, the taste of tea, the books they liked. But soon, the silence returned, heavier this time. It was as if both of them knew there was more beneath the surface.
Finally, Ada broke it.
"You said yesterday that poetry speaks for you," she began slowly. "What did you mean?"
Samuel hesitated. He had never shared his pain with strangers. But Ada didn't feel like a stranger. She felt like someone who already knew part of his story.
He leaned back, his voice low. "I lost my parents through road accident when I was young. He was… everything to me. They taught me how to dream, how to be strong. And then, suddenly, they were gone. No warning, no goodbye. Since then, I've been walking with a hole inside me. Poetry… sometimes it fills that hole, even if just for a moment."
Ada's eyes softened. She whispered, "I'm sorry."
Samuel shook his head. "Don't be. It's been years. People think time heals. But really, time just teaches you how to carry the wound."
Her eyes glistened, as if his words unlocked something deep within her. She took a shaky breath. "I understand. I was betrayed… by someone I trusted with all my heart. I thought he was my forever. But he lied, cheated, and left me broken. Since then, I keep asking myself — was I not enough? Did I deserve it?"
Samuel looked at her carefully. "No. You didn't deserve it. People break promises, not because of your weakness, but because of their own."
Ada blinked back tears. For so long, she had carried the blame, thinking it was her fault. Hearing his steady voice gave her a strange comfort.
---
Their stories hung between them like two candles flickering in the same wind. Different flames, but the same struggle.
"You see," Samuel said softly, "your story… it feels a little like mine. Different wounds, but the same ache."
Ada gave a small, trembling smile. "Maybe that's why I came back. I felt it yesterday too. Like somehow, you understand."
He nodded. "Yes. I think I do."
---
Over the next weeks, they kept meeting at the café. Sometimes they spoke for hours. Sometimes they just sat in silence, sipping tea or coffee, knowing they didn't need to fill every moment with words.
One evening, Ada brought a small notebook with her. She placed it on the table nervously.
"What's that?" Samuel asked.
"My secret," she said with a half-smile. "I write… little pieces. Not exactly poems, not exactly stories. Just feelings. Would you like to see?"
Samuel nodded gently. She opened a page and let him read.
The words were simple:
I am a house with broken windows,
but inside, a fire still burns.
I am a road with many cracks,
but I still lead somewhere.
Samuel read it twice, then looked at her. "Ada… this is beautiful. It's raw, but it's true. It feels like you put your soul on the page."
Her cheeks warmed. "I never show anyone. I was afraid they would laugh."
"I would never laugh at truth," he said firmly.
Her heart softened at his words. For the first time since her betrayal, she felt safe.
---
But healing was not a straight line.
One evening, as they walked together outside the café, Samuel reached for her hand without thinking. Ada froze. Her heart raced. The memory of her past rushed back like a wave, whispering, Don't trust. Don't open your heart. You'll only be hurt again.
She pulled her hand back quickly.
Samuel stopped, surprised. "Ada… I'm sorry. Did I do something wrong?"
She shook her head, her eyes filling with tears. "No. It's just… I'm scared. I don't know if I can ever trust like that again."
Samuel's face softened. He wanted to say he understood, but instead he just said, "It's okay. We can take it slow. I'm not in a hurry."
Ada looked at him, searching his eyes for any sign of impatience or hidden anger. But she found none. Only calm. Only kindness.
And that, more than anything, made her heart ache with hope.
---
That night, lying in bed, Ada whispered to herself: "Maybe trust is not about forgetting the past. Maybe it's about finding someone patient enough to walk with you through it."
Across the city, Samuel sat at his desk, staring at an empty page. For years, he had stopped writing, too weighed down by grief. But now, words began to flow again:
Her eyes carry storms,
but I am not afraid of rain.
Her heart carries scars,
but I am not afraid of wounds.
For in her silence, I see myself.
Her story is my story.
When he finished, he closed the notebook with a quiet smile.
Yes. Their stories were beginning to weave together.