The next morning, Liana told herself she would act normal.
No overthinking.
No staring at the door.
No caring.
She repeated it like a rule.
By nine-thirty, she broke all three.
When Adrian walked in, he was alone.
Her chest relaxed before she could stop it.
"Morning," he said.
"Morning."
He ordered the same coffee. She prepared it carefully, even though she didn't need to think about it anymore. She had memorized it.
When she handed him the cup, their fingers brushed slightly.
She pulled back first.
He noticed.
He always noticed.
"You're quiet today," he said.
"I'm working," she replied.
"You were working yesterday too."
She didn't answer that.
He didn't go to the window table this time.
Instead, he stayed at the counter.
"You don't have to stand here," she said.
"I know."
But he didn't move.
The café was calm not too busy, not too quiet. Just enough noise to keep things from feeling exposed.
"Are you going to accept it?" she asked suddenly.
"The gallery?"
He nodded. "Probably."
"That's good," she said.
"It means I won't be here as much."
Her hands paused mid-wipe.
"Oh."
Silence.
He studied her reaction carefully.
"You don't look happy about that."
"I'm fine," she said again.
There it was. That word.
He leaned slightly closer to the counter, lowering his voice.
"Liana."
It was the first time he said her name like that. Not casually. Not in passing.
Just… intentionally.
She looked up.
"You know I don't stay in one place long," he said.
"I know."
"And you know this started because I just needed coffee."
She swallowed.
"I know."
Another pause.
"But it's not just that anymore," he added quietly.
Her heart started beating too loudly.
She shouldn't let this happen. He already told her he doesn't stay. He leaves.
And she… she stays.
She stays in cafés. In routines. In places.
"That's dangerous," she said before she could stop herself.
"What is?"
"This."
He didn't smile this time.
"Only if you pretend it's nothing."
The bell above the door rang, breaking the moment. A customer walked in.
Liana stepped back automatically.
"I should work," she said.
He straightened.
"Yeah," he replied.
He finally moved to a table, but not the window one.
The one closest to the counter.
Where he could still see her.
Where she could still feel him there.
When he left that day, he didn't say "same time tomorrow."
And that bothered her more than anything.
Because now there was something unspoken between them.
And neither of them knew who was going to cross the line first.