A week of daily coffee dates later, Adrian's phone buzzed during his morning class.
Dante: Can we talk today? Something important.
Adrian's stomach dropped. Something important could mean anything. Good. Bad. Catastrophic.
He typed back: Of course. Usual time?
Dante: Yeah. See you at 2.
Adrian spent the next four hours catastrophizing. Dr. Reeves would have called him on it immediately—What evidence do you have that this is bad news?—but she wasn't there, and his brain was spinning worst-case scenarios.
Dante was ending things. Dante had decided it was too hard. Dante had met someone else.
By the time Adrian arrived at the café, he'd convinced himself the world was ending.
Dante was already there, sitting at their usual table. He looked tired. Anxious. But not angry. That was something.
"Hi," Adrian said, sliding into the chair across from him.
"Hi. Thanks for meeting."
"Of course. What's up?"
