What do you think about the story so far? I’d truly love to hear your thoughts.
Lucas POVHer lips leave mine, slow, reluctant, like she is surprised by her own actions. Her surprise says that I am the first one who got such reaction from her. And if that doesn't make me happy, then I don't know what will.However, the absence is immediate, a sudden rush of sound trying to flood back in... rain hammering against the windows, the faint hiss of the espresso machine, a chair scraping across tile, but none of it really makes it through. Not yet. Not when she’s still this close.Her breath fans across my mouth, uneven, like she’s been running again, though I know it’s not the rain this time. A drop of water clings stubbornly to the curve of her jaw, trembling, catching the light. My fingers twitch with the need to brush it away, but I don’t. I just watch until it finally falls, landing on her collarbone and sliding down where I can’t follow.Her lips are fuller now, kissed pink, the kind of detail I don’t want anyone else to ever see. And her eyes, God... her eyes don
Lucas POVRain doesn’t just fall. It performs. Each drop lands with its own note. Outside, the bigger ones slap the pavement in hard, flat bursts, like a drummer who doesn’t know when to stop. Smaller drops race down the café window, some fast and clean, others dragging behind, merging, swallowing each other whole before sliding out of sight. The gutter above is offbeat, spitting water in crooked streams, pooling by the curb in circles that ripple, overlap, collapse.The door swings open, and with it comes a man who shakes himself out in the middle of the café. Drops fly across the tables, scattering like tiny glass beads. They catch the dim light for a second before dying on the wood, leaving dark freckles that spread slow. I watch one slide toward the edge, then fall, a single drop meeting the floor with a soft tick I almost shouldn’t hear, or notice but I do.Behind me, two students tumble in, their laughter sharp, too sharp. It cuts through the rain like broken glass. They don’t l
Lucas The guy behind the counter surprises me today. I’ve barely pulled the chair back when he sets a cup of coffee in front of me. No hesitation, no order pad in hand, just places it like it belongs to me. “I haven’t ordered yet,” I say, giving him a look. “Yeah, but a pretty girl did it for you, yesterday before leaving.” He winks, grins like he’s in on something, then adds, “Enjoy. Not every day you get a girl buying you food. Usually it’s the other way around.” A laugh, quick and knowing, before he disappears behind the counter again. I pick up the cup, the heat sinking into my palm, and sip. Dark, just how I like it. It looks like I am not the only one who takes notes on everything. The thought makes me smile before I can stop it. And right on time, 12:30, the door opens. She walks in, and my chest feels lighter, the way it always does when she shows up. Her eyes shift toward me almost immediately, and her lips twitch, trying to hide a smile that gives her away. She orders
Lucas POVIt’s been a week. Seven days of the same chair, same corner, same lukewarm coffee that cools too fast because I forget to drink it. Anyone else would call it boring. I should call it boring. But it isn’t. Not when she is here.She doesn’t look at me every time. Sometimes she does, sometimes she doesn’t, and maybe that’s what keeps me coming back. The unpredictability of it. Like a page I want to flip but hold back, just to savor the pause before the turn.Today she’s in another one of those dresses, loose and simple, fabric that drapes like it was made for her without even trying. Yesterday it was a sweatshirt, sleeves pushed halfway up her arms, like comfort was the only rule.She sits with her drink, that same vanilla shake, no whipped cream. Always no whipped cream. I’ve started noticing how she says it, a soft note in her voice, careful, like she’s already prepared for the barista to mess it up again. They don’t, not anymore. She trained them quick.Sometimes she pulls o
Lucas POVIt’s the next day and I should be in class. Should be taking notes, pretending to care about whatever the professor has on the board. But I’m not.I’m here. Same chair, different book. Though let’s be real, this thing’s not getting past chapter two if she walks in.Yesterday was two hours. Two hours of watching her exist in the same space as me. Two hours that felt like twenty minutes. And then she left. Just… left. No clue where. No clue when she’d be back. And it shouldn’t matter, not really, but it does. For some reason, it stuck under my skin, a kind of frustration I can’t name. Because two hours wasn’t enough.So now I sit here again, the book open but already abandoned in my mind, eyes flicking up at the door every time it swings. The storm in my head feels louder today, restless, pacing. Waiting.I tell myself it’s stupid. People come and go. Maybe she won’t show up at all. But if she does... if she does... I know I’ll forget every word on these pages the second her bo
Lucas POVShe picks up the vanilla shake. The straw barely makes it halfway to her lips before she stops.The whipped cream. Too much of it. She’d said no. I know she did, I heard her voice, calm but certain. Yet the barista missed it. Sloppy. And now, because someone didn’t listen, she has to turn back.I find myself glaring at the barista for ruining her order.Strange.However, before anyone can notice, I school my expression and pretend to be busy in the book that I have abandoned since she walked in.She... what is your name? Who are you? And what is your story?Her jaw ticks, the faintest movement, like a pulse under skin. But her voice? Smooth. No bite, no edge. Just a request...kind, clear. Almost like she’s done this before. Too many times. People not listening. People assuming. She hates it yet, she never shows it.The shake goes back, and she waits. Not impatient. Her eyes move across the room again, discreet, scanning. The corner of the ceiling where the light flickers, th