The café was full—soft chatter, the clink of cups, laughter that felt rehearsed. Everyone seemed absorbed in their own world. Everyone except him.
Daniel sat by the window, his coffee untouched, his gaze fixed on the street outside as if he were waiting for something he wasn't sure would come. There was a heaviness about him, quiet but unmistakable, and it tugged at me in a way I didn't understand.
I looked away quickly, annoyed with myself.
Strangers didn't do this to me.
"Order for Aurora."
I stepped forward, grateful for the distraction, my fingers wrapping around the warm cup. As I turned, I collided with someone solid.
"I'm so sorry," I said at the same time he did.
I looked up—and forgot how to breathe.
It was him.
Up close, his presence felt different. Stronger. His eyes were a deep brown, steady and searching, as if he were trying to place me somewhere in his life. His hand hovered near my arm, not touching, but close enough that I felt the heat of him.
"No harm done," he said softly.
His voice did something to me. Low. Calm. Dangerous.
For a moment, neither of us moved.
"Do I know you?" he asked, brows knitting together.
The question sent an unexpected shiver through me.
"I don't think so," I replied.
He studied my face, like he didn't quite believe me.
"You just feel… familiar."
I forced a smile.
"I get that a lot."
"Well, I'm Daniel," he said.
"Aurora," I replied.
Saying my name to him felt strangely intimate.
We stood there, two strangers wrapped in a moment that stretched longer than it should have. Then the barista cleared her throat behind us, and reality rushed back in.
"Right," Daniel said, stepping aside. "Sorry."
I nodded and moved toward my table, my body humming with awareness. I tried to focus on my phone, on anything that wasn't the memory of his eyes on mine.
Ten minutes later, I felt him before I saw him.
"Hey," he said quietly.
I looked up. He was standing beside my table, hands tucked into his pockets, uncertainty written all over his face.
"I was wondering," he continued, "if you'd like to sit together. Just for a bit."
My instincts screamed caution.
My heart ignored them completely.
"I'd like that," I said.
He smiled, and it felt like the beginning of something I wasn't ready for.
If I had known what meeting Daniel would cost me, I might have walked away that day.
But some stories don't begin with choice.
They begin with timing.
And ours was already wrong.
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