Part 83
(Alex's POV)
The night swallowed the countryside whole.
The laughter, the camera flashes, the chatter — all gone. What remained was silence, broken only by the soft hum of a single streetlamp flickering above Moonlight Brew.
Alex parked her car a little down the road, letting the engine die quietly. The café looked peaceful now, its windows fogged faintly from the day's warmth. Through the glass, the chairs were stacked neatly, the counter wiped clean — the perfect picture of a small-town dream.
She stepped out, her boots crunching against the gravel.
In the quiet, every sound was sharp — the rustle of trees, the chirp of crickets, the faint metallic jingle of the café's hanging sign swaying in the wind.
She walked slowly, fingertips grazing the edge of the doorframe when she reached the entrance. She didn't try to open it — she just stood there, staring through the glass at the space where he had been standing hours ago.
That spot behind the counter.
That smile.
That glow that didn't belong to her anymore.
Her throat tightened.
She could almost see it again — Adrian laughing, apron dusted with coffee grounds, surrounded by fans who called his name like they still owned him.
But they didn't.
They never would.
He wasn't theirs to love. He was hers to keep.
Alex leaned forward, her reflection catching in the glass — pale eyes, tired, unblinking. "You think this little town will save you?" she whispered, the words fogging the window.
Inside, the faint smell of roasted beans lingered.
It wrapped around her like a ghost.
For a moment, her anger dimmed, replaced by something softer — longing, almost heartbreak. She reached into her coat pocket and pulled out a small white envelope. Inside, a pressed flowers rested between two sheets of paper.
Her fingers brushed its petals carefully before she slid it into the café's mail slot.
No note this time. No message. Just the flower.
Something gentler, but far more dangerous.
She stepped back, eyes still locked on the window.
"I'm happy you're smiling again, Adrian," she murmured. "But you don't get to smile without me."
The wind picked up, carrying the faint scent of coffee and flowers. Alex turned, her coat sweeping behind her like a shadow as she walked back to her car.
From inside the café, the envelope lay quietly on the floor, its edges catching the dim light — waiting for morning.
And somewhere between the trees and the darkness, Alex's voice whispered into the night:
"Even sunflowers grow in the dark."