"Aurora's POV"
I couldn't stop thinking about him.
Three days had passed since the diner, and Tristan occupied way too much space in my head for someone I barely knew.
I replayed our conversation while making drinks at work, remembered the careful way he'd held my hand, caught myself smiling at nothing until my coworker Maya asked if I was okay.
I'm fine, i said. Just tired.
She didn't believe me, but she let it go.
When my phone buzzed on Thursday afternoon with his name on the screen, my heart did something embarrassing.
"Coffee? There's a place near the park if you're free.""
"Give me 30 minutes. Meet you there?"
"I'll be waiting."
I changed three times before settling on jeans and a sweater, then felt ridiculous for caring so much. It was just coffee. Casual. Not even a real date.
Except it felt like one.
The café was small and warm, the kind of place that smelled like cinnamon and played acoustic music just loud enough to fill the silence.
Tristan was already there when I arrived, sitting in a corner booth with a cup in front of him.
He stood when he saw me, which was oddly formal and kind of sweet.
You made it, he said.
Traffic wasn't bad. I slid into the seat across from him. What are you drinking?
Coffee. Black.
Boring. I flagged down a server and ordered something with far too much caramel and whipped cream. Tristan watched with an expression I couldn't quite read.
What? I asked.
Nothing. Just wondering how you can drink something that sweet.
It's delicious. You should try it.
I'm good with what I have.
We talked about nothing important. My shift the night before, a customer who'd asked me to settle a bet about whether hot dogs were sandwiches, the weather turning colder. Normal conversation that should have felt boring but didn't.
But I noticed things.
Small things that didn't quite add up.
Like how Tristan's coffee sat untouched the entire time we talked.
He lifted the cup occasionally, brought it close to his lips, but I never actually saw him drink.
Or how he angled himself away from the window, keeping his back to the afternoon light streaming through the glass.
Not obviously, just enough that shadows fell across his face in a way that felt intentional.
Or how he tensed when a family with three loud kids sat at the table next to us, his entire body going rigid until they settled down.
Like he was hyper-aware of everyone around us, tracking movements and sounds I barely registered.
You okay? I asked.
Fine. Why?
You seem tense.
Just not used to crowds.
We're in a cafe with like ten people.
He smiled but it didn't reach his eyes. I prefer quiet spaces.
Can I ask you something? I said.
Depends on the question.
Why did you agree to see me again?
He was quiet for a moment. Because I wanted to.
That's not really an answer.
It's the only one I have. He glanced at me. Why did you ask me?
Because you're interesting. And sad. And I have a terrible habit of wanting to fix sad things.
I'm not a broken vase you can glue back together, Aurora.
I know. But that doesn't mean I can't care that you're hurting.
He stopped walking and turned to face me. His eyes were intense, holding mine with an expression I couldn't name. You should be careful about caring too much.
Why?
Because people like me don't deserve it.
That's dramatic.
It's honest. He looked away. Getting close to me is dangerous.
You keep saying that, but I'm still here. Still fine.
"For now."
The weight in those two words made my chest tighten. What happened to you, Tristan?
Too much. Does it matter?
It does to me.
He studied my face like he was trying to memorize it. Why?
I don't know. I pulled my jacket tighter. Maybe because I recognize loneliness when I see it. And you're the loneliest person I've ever met.
His expression cracked, just for a second, showing something raw underneath. Then he put the walls back up. I should get you home. It's getting cold.
I'm fine.
You're shivering.
I hadn't noticed, but he was right. We turned back and he walked slightly closer this time, close enough that our arms brushed occasionally.
When we reached my building, he stopped at the entrance like last time. Same spot, same careful distance.
Thanks for coffee, I said. And the walk. Even if you're weirdly cryptic about everything.
Weirdly cryptic?
You realize you answer every personal question with either a vague statement or another question, right? It's like talking to a very polite brick wall.
He almost laughed. I'm working on it.
Work faster. I want to actually know you, not just the carefully edited version you show people.
What if the edited version is safer?
For who? You or me?
Both.
I reached out and touched his arm, felt him go still under my hand. I'm not scared of you, Tristan.
Whatever you think you are, whatever you're hiding, it doesn't change the fact that you've been nothing but kind to me.
Kindness doesn't make me safe.
Maybe not. But it makes me want to trust you anyway.
He looked at my hand on his arm, then at my face. You shouldn't.
Too late.
We stood there in the cold, my hand still on his arm, and something shifted. He moved closer, lifted his hand like he might touch my face, then stopped himself.
I should go, he said quietly.
Okay.
But he didn't move. Neither did I.
Aurora, he started, then stopped. His jaw tightened. This is a mistake.
The date?
All of it.
Then why are you still here?
Because I can't seem to stay away. The admission sounded like it cost him something. And that terrified me.
Why?
Because everyone I care about gets hurt.
And I told you I'm stubborn. I squeezed his arm gently. Whatever you're afraid of, we'll figure it out.
You don't understand what you're saying.
Then help me understand.
He was quiet for so long I thought he wouldn't answer. Not yet. Just give me time.
Okay. I let go of his arm, stepped back. But Tristan? Don't take too long. I'm patient, but I'm not infinite.
I know.
He left without another word, disappearing into the evening shadows so quickly I almost wondered if I'd imagined him.
I paused, staring down the street, trying to figure out the man who made me feel both safe and unsettled at the same time.
Something about him wasn't right—he was holding something back. Something big.
The way he avoided certain topics, the careful control he maintained, the sadness that clung to him like a second skin.
I should have been more cautious. Should have listened to the warning bells.
Instead, I found myself wanting to know more. Wanting to dig past the walls he'd built and find the person hiding behind them.