The café meeting left an ache in both of them-a quiet, restless ache that lingered long after they parted ways.
Jake walked the streets with his hands in his coat pockets, the sky above dim and overcast, as if the weather had absorbed the storm brewing inside him. He had barely spoken more than a few sentences to Hriva, but something about her clung to the edges of his mind. He remembered the way she spoke with quiet certainty, the way her eyes had searched his face like she was trying to read between the lines of who he was.
Back in his apartment, he sat by the window, watching people pass below, wondering what she was doing right now.
Was she thinking about him too?
Hriva stood in front of the mirror in her bedroom that night, running a comb through her hair without seeing her reflection.
It felt wrong to be so distracted by someone she barely knew. But then again, Jake didn't feel like a stranger.
He felt like a memory.
A memory from a life she hadn't lived yet.
She sat by the window and pulled her knees to her chest. The streetlights glowed outside, orange and soft, the sound of passing cars humming in the distance. But her mind was still at that café table. The way Jake had looked at her-focused, steady, like he wasn't afraid of silence.
She hadn't felt seen like that in a long time.
They didn't plan to meet again. But three days later, Hriva walked into the small bookstore near campus, and there he was.
Jake.
Back turned, black jacket, fingertips tracing along the spines of novels.
She didn't call his name. She didn't have to.
As if he had sensed her presence, Jake turned around-and for a moment, they just looked at each other.
Then a soft smile crossed his lips. "We really have to stop meeting like this."
Hriva smiled too. "Maybe the universe is trying to say something."
He stepped closer. "Or maybe we're just listening now."
They walked through the store in slow steps, pausing every few shelves. It wasn't like the first conversation at the party, or the deeper one at the café. This time, they didn't rush. They didn't fill the silence with explanations or stories.
This time, they were just... there.
In the same space.
Breathing the same quiet.
Outside, they lingered beneath the shop's awning, neither one wanting to leave first. The wind tugged at Hriva's scarf, and she laughed as she struggled to keep it in place.
Jake watched her with a softness in his eyes. "You look like something out of an old black-and-white film."
She rolled her eyes, but her cheeks turned pink. "That sounds like a compliment."
"It is."
She looked at him then, really looked-like she wanted to memorize the lines of his face, the way his jaw tensed when he was nervous, the way his smile never quite reached his eyes unless he was truly laughing.
"I don't understand this," she admitted, "but I don't want it to stop."
Jake hesitated only for a second before nodding. "Me neither."
They didn't touch. Didn't kiss. Didn't even make plans.
But when they walked away from each other that night, something invisible tethered them together-tighter, stronger than before.
That night, Hriva lay in bed and whispered his name to the ceiling.
Jake.
Like a secret.
And Jake sat by his guitar, his fingers plucking at strings, writing melodies that didn't exist until she came into his life.
The spark had been lit.
And neither of them knew it yet… but it was only the beginning.