Aiden's Pov:
The coffee machine growls, spitting steam like it's ready to fight. I wipe my hands on the Brew & Bloom apron, the logo faded from too many washes. The café's packed tonight, mugs clinking, college kids yammering over laptops. Smells like burnt espresso and sugar syrup, the kind of mix that sticks in your throat. I'm slinging lattes, but my head's stuck on a subway car, on a girl with dark hair and eyes that hit like a fist. Elara. Her name's got no business stuck in my brain like this.
'Gosh, come on, she's just a dumb girl.'. I shake my head, pouring a cappuccino, foam spilling over. 'Didn't even talk, just wrote in that notebook like I'm supposed to give a dam' .
But I do, and that's the problem. Her eyes, all quiet and deep, like they're hiding something heavy. 'What's your deal, girl?' I helped with that lost guy, and she just nodded, quick and shy.
'I hope so, Elara.' . Why'd I say that? Sounds like I'm chasing her. A guy like me doesn't chase.
The café's too damn hot, air thick with chatter and the grinder's hum. I glance at the clock—7:32 p.m. Halfway through this shit, and I'm itching to bolt. Mia's family owns this place, and I'm only here to kill time, get my head straight.
Straight.
Sure.
After Lauren, that's a laugh. Gave her a ring, thought she'd stay. She said yes, then walked. My jaw clenches, and I slam a mug down harder than I mean to. Not going there.
"Hey, Aiden, you break it, you buy it!" Mia calls, wiping a table, her grin all teeth and trouble. She's my cousin, too nosy for her own good. "What's with the scowl? You'll scare off customers."
"Funny," I grunt, tossing a rag at her. She dodges, laughing, her curls bouncing like they've got their own pulse. "Keep cleaning, slacker." Mia sticks out her tongue, but she's why I'm here, pouring coffee instead of losing it in my apartment. Lauren didn't just leave—she gutted me. Found texts on her phone, some guy's name, promises she swore she'd keep. I was dumb enough to believe her.
I grab another order, hands moving fast, muscle memory. The café's alive, college kids hunched over books, couples whispering like they own the world. I scan the room, old habit, always watching. Trust's for suckers.
But my eyes keep drifting to the window, to the streetlights cutting through the fog. 'Is she out there?' Elara, with her notebook and that look, like she's carrying a weight I know too well.
'Get a grip, man.' . I'm not some kid with a crush. But her face sticks, those headphones around her neck, her quick scrawl—Elara.
"Aiden, you dreaming or what?" Jake, the other barista, elbows me, smirking. He's lanky, all tattoos and bad jokes. "That latte's gonna pour itself?"
"Bite me," I shoot back, but I grin, pouring the milk with a flick of my wrist. Jake chuckles, heading to the register. Guy's alright—keeps things light, doesn't pry.
Unlike Mia, who's eyeballing me now, like she knows I'm distracted. She'd have a field day if I mentioned Elara. I won't. No way.
The heat's getting to me, the café's noise pressing in. I need air. "Taking a breather," I mutter to Jake, stepping out the back door to the alley. The night's cool, smelling of damp pavement and distant rain. I lean against the brick wall, hands in my pockets, staring at the streetlights' glow. 'Why's she's stuck in my head?' her silence, her quick scribbles—it's like she's speaking without words, and I can't shake it.
My foot nudges something—a scrap of paper, folded, half-caught under a crate. I pick it up, curious, unfolding it. It's a sketch, just lines, but damn—sharp cheekbones, eyes like mine. What the hell? My pulse kicks up, not sure why. It's not signed, but it feels like her, like the way she looked at me on that subway. No way she dropped this. But I shove it in my pocket anyway, some dumb impulse telling me to keep it. I scan the alley, the street beyond—empty, just shadows and fog. No one's there.
'Still why does it feel like I'm being watched?'