It was their third time meeting in person always in public, always casual.
Nayla had picked the spot this time. A café tucked quietly behind a bookstore, the kind of place you only find if you are looking for solitude, not lattes. The baristas wore chunky cardigans and glasses without prescriptions. The music playing was so soft it felt like an ambient mood rather than a song, just a hum, like the building itself had a heartbeat.
Raka arrived early.
He always did.
She arrived exactly on time.
"Hi," she said, brushing her hair behind her ear. Her voice was soft but clear, like a sentence whispered in a library, deliberate, not timid.
"Hey," Raka replied, rising instinctively as she approached.
They ordered drinks. He went for something sweet and creamy, caramel with oat milk. She, as always, went for dark espresso with no sugar and no hesitation.
They settled by the window, where the rainy light bled through half-open blinds, casting pale shadows on the table. The air smelled of cinnamon and books that had been handled too many times.
Their conversation trickled rather than flowed.
Raka asked how her week had been. She answered in small, thoughtful fragments, not curt, just economical. But then she turned the conversation gently.
She asked how his writing was going. If his mom had recovered from her cold. If he ever finished that essay he'd been dreading last week.
She remembered things no one else did.
And when he teased her, calling the last book she recommended "emotional sabotage in paperback form," she laughed.
A real laugh. Out loud. In the open.
It startled him a little.
He blinked. "You laugh in real life?"
She tilted her head slightly, amused. "Only when it's funny."
He grinned. "So… my memes aren't?"
Her smile faded just slightly, not insulted, more like exposed. "I don't always know how to respond online," she admitted. "It feels… unnatural."
"I figured," Raka said gently. "But I like hearing you laugh more than reading 'lol' anyway."
She didn't reply, but the corner of her mouth lifted. That was enough.
They sat for a while, sipping coffee and watching the rain paint soft rivers on the glass. It wasn't the kind of meeting that made you breathless. It was quieter than that. Steadier. A slow pulse beneath the skin.
There was no pressure to perform.
At one point, their fingers brushed when she passed him a napkin. She didn't flinch. Didn't move away. Just left it there a second longer than needed.
He didn't make a joke. Didn't call it a "moment." Just smiled to himself.
When it was time to leave, he offered to walk her to the station. She nodded.
They didn't talk much on the way. The silence was companionable, soft like the rain on their jackets. He held the umbrella over her, even though he didn't say it was on purpose.
As the train pulled in with a low rumble, she turned to him.
"I'm glad we did this," she said.
Just that.
Simple. Unemotional.
But Raka's heart stumbled.
He wanted to say more. Something clever or charming. But he didn't want to ruin it.
"I'm glad too," he said.
Because he was.
And he knew she didn't say things she didn't mean.