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Chapter 12 - Chapter Twelve: The Kind of Attention That Doesn't Hurt

I saw him again.

Same café.

Same table by the shelf.

Same quiet energy that didn't make me shrink.

He was sketching again a city skyline this time, from what I could see.

I hadn't planned on talking to him.

But fate, or maybe timing, had other ideas.

The barista smiled at me as I walked in.

"Your usual?" she asked.

"Yes, please. And maybe a muffin today too."

I turned around to wait, and there he was Elijah looking up from his sketchbook, recognition in his eyes but no pressure in his smile.

Just that same calm.

"Ava," he said, like he remembered.

"Elijah," I replied, walking toward the table beside his.

"Seems like we have the same taste in quiet corners."

"Or maybe we just know where the peace lives," I said with a soft laugh.

He nodded toward the chair across from him.

"You can sit here if you want. I won't bite."

"Are you sure?" I asked.

"I'm always sure about comfort," he said, with a smile that reached his eyes.

So I sat.

It was easy.

Easier than it should be.

No awkward silence.

No waiting for him to talk.

No guessing if I was saying too much or too little.

We just… talked.

He asked about my work.

"Design must be like solving a puzzle with feelings," he said.

I paused.

"That's… actually the best way I've ever heard it described."

"I do some freelance architecture sketches," he shared. "I think that's why I noticed your layout drafts the other day. Good design has rhythm."

I liked the way he said things.

Not to impress.

Not to brag.

He spoke with thought. With care.

He didn't interrupt me once.

Didn't turn the conversation back to himself.

It felt so different from Jayden.

With Jayden, I always had to fight to be heard.

With Elijah, I didn't have to raise my voice.

I just had to be present.

And that was enough.

As I bit into my muffin, he looked up from his cup.

"Do you believe people can grow into different versions of themselves?"

It caught me off guard. In a good way.

"I do," I said slowly. "But I think some people only pretend to grow. Or grow in circles."

"Like they change… until the next time they're triggered," he said.

"Exactly," I nodded. "Real growth shows in how you treat people. Not in your Instagram quotes."

He smiled at that.

"I like the way your mind works."

And just like that, something fluttered in my chest.

Not a storm.

Not fireworks.

Just warmth.

After coffee, we walked out at the same time.

I thought we'd go separate ways.

But we both paused at the same street corner.

"I'm headed to the bookstore two blocks down," he said.

"That's where I'm going," I replied, surprised.

He raised an eyebrow, smiling.

"I guess peace really does follow the same path."

We walked together.

On the way, we talked about favorite books, quiet cities, and the joy of silence.

"Sometimes I think I only survived the last year because of fiction," I admitted.

"Stories heal," he said. "Sometimes faster than people do."

I looked at him then really looked.

And I didn't see a man trying to fix me.

I saw a man who understood the weight of healing because he had done it, too.

That kind of understanding can't be faked.

At the bookstore, we ended up in the same aisle.

Not on purpose.

"You like poetry?" he asked, seeing me hold a collection.

"Only when it hurts just right."

He reached for one on the top shelf and handed it to me.

"This one helped me once."

"When?"

"When I realized I had been staying in a relationship just to keep the peace but losing myself in the process."

That hit me like a quiet wave.

Because it sounded like my story too.

He didn't ask about my past.

He didn't push.

But in that moment, I wanted to tell him something real.

"I used to fight to be someone's first choice. He made me feel like I had to earn his love every day."

Elijah didn't flinch.

"That wasn't love," he said softly. "That was emotional gymnastics."

"I thought if I tried hard enough, I could become everything he needed."

"And now?" he asked gently.

"Now," I breathed, "I just want to be myself. And if that's not enough for someone, then they're not for me."

He nodded slowly.

"Good. Don't shrink for anyone again."

We left the bookstore without buying anything, just smiles and borrowed peace.

At the corner, we paused again.

"I'm glad I saw you today," he said.

"Me too."

"Same time next week?"

He didn't say it like a date.

He said it like a question, not a demand.

And for the first time in a long time, I said yes without fear.

That night, I opened my journal and wrote:

It's not a new love yet.

It's not a story I'm rushing to write.

But it's the kind of attention that doesn't hurt.

It doesn't make me question my worth.

It just lets me breathe.

He didn't offer promises.

He offered presence.

And for the first time, I realized that's what I needed all along.

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