Chapter 3: Unspoken Agreements

They never say, “Let’s get coffee.”

It just begins.

One morning on a weekend, she’s paying at the register, and he’s behind her in line. Their eyes meet briefly. She steps aside to put the change in her wallet.

There’s a small café two doors down. Neither of them says anything, but when she walks in, he follows. It’s quiet inside, with a few people working on laptops. They each order — she gets a pastery this time, he sticks with coffee — and somehow end up sitting at the same small table by the window.

No one mentions how odd it is. It just feels easy.

They talk a little. Nothing deep. The kind of conversation that fills space without effort. She says her name is Clara. He doesn’t offer his, and she doesn’t ask. Later, she sees it written on his cup — Ben.

She likes that. That there’s no pressure to explain anything. Just two people sitting with warm drinks, letting the conversation find its own pace.

He asks what she does. She tells him she is a freelancer and edits manuscripts from home. Mostly academic papers, sometimes fiction. She says it helps her keep her own thoughts quiet. He nods like he understands.

He assists a professor. History. Says the students are funny without meaning to be. She smiles. It’s the kind of job that sounds tiring, but he talks about it like it matters.

Their days are simple. His are shaped by bells and lesson plans. Hers by pages and deadlines. Both of them seem used to quiet.

He asks what she likes most about editing.

She thinks for a moment, then says, “The unraveling. How a sentence can change just by switching a word.”

He nods. “History’s like that, too. People tell the same story in different ways.”

They sit for a while. There are pauses, but they don’t feel uncomfortable. She watches the people walking by outside. He seemingly thinking of his schedule for the next day.

They don’t touch. Not yet.

But she notices the way he underlines sentences in the book he pulls from his bag. A novel, though she can’t see which one. He underlines things carefully, just once, like he’s not trying to show anything — just remember something.

His hands are steady. She watches the way he holds his pen, and how he sets it down when he’s done. There’s a calmness about him. Not forced — just there.

They stay until his drink is almost gone. No one rushes them. The light outside starts to change.

They don’t make plans to meet again. No numbers are exchanged.

But the next day, they’re both there again. Not at the same time, but close enough.

He’s behind her in line. She turns, and he smiles.

Still, no one says, “Let’s get coffee.”

They don’t have to. They just follow in one after the other.

***Download NovelToon to enjoy a better reading experience!***