I had nothing to do.
Ken was already at the hospital, immersed in his work, and the quiet of my apartment pressed too heavily against me.
I slipped on my hoodie, cap pulled low, and decided to walk into town.
Coffee, I told myself.
Nothing more.
Just a cup of coffee, the steam warming my fingers, the quiet of the small town streets offering a rhythm to distract my thoughts.
The sidewalks were empty, except for the occasional pedestrian or a stray cat weaving through the shadows of buildings.
The streets were familiar, yet every corner seemed to hum with the subtle promise of something unexpected.
I pushed open the door of the small café at the center of town.
Warm air and the aroma of roasted beans enveloped me, settling some of the restless energy coiling in my chest.
Keisha was there.
Sitting at a small table near the window, sunlight catching the faint highlights in her hair, sipping her coffee as if she owned the quiet morning.
My first instinct was to turn back, leave, find another corner of town to occupy, but curiosity and something sharper, more insistent, held me in place.
She looked up from her cup, her eyes widening slightly when she saw me. "Ysabelle," she said smoothly, tilting her head in recognition. "I didn't expect to see you here."
I ignored the small flutter in my chest, settling into a chair across from her without asking. "Morning," I said simply, voice neutral.
She smiled, casual but knowing, as if she sensed the tension beneath my calm exterior. "Morning. Fancy seeing you here. Coffee before the day begins?"
I shrugged, taking a sip from my own cup, careful not to reveal the sudden sharp awareness of her presence beside me.
The first few moments were quiet, punctuated only by the clinking of spoons against ceramic, the hiss of the espresso machine, and the soft hum of conversation drifting from other tables.
Then I leaned slightly forward, meeting her gaze directly. "Do you… like Ken?" I asked.
The question hung in the air between us.
Simple words, but heavy, deliberate.
Keisha's lips curved into a small, candid smile. "Yes," she said softly, without hesitation.
Something inside me tightened.
The sharp edge of irritation, the inexplicable, unwelcome pang of… recognition. Of jealousy, of protectiveness, of something I hadn't expected to feel.
"I see," I said, voice low, carefully neutral.
I didn't look away.
I wanted her to know I was observing every flicker in her expression, every nuance.
"I hope I'm not… stepping on your toes," Keisha said quickly, holding her hands up in a gentle gesture of peace. "I wouldn't want to be a problem for you."
I took another sip of coffee, letting the bitterness ground me. "You should know," I said finally, voice steady but layered, "I don't… I don't make promises about hearts that aren't mine to control."
Keisha tilted her head, intrigued. "I didn't mean—"
"I know," I interrupted gently but firmly. "And I'm not trying to be cruel. But I can't teach my heart how to behave. Not for anyone."
Her gaze softened, understanding settling into her features. "You're… intense," she said, almost in admiration. "Beautiful. Strong. You could have anyone or nothing at all and still command the room."
I stayed still, cold on the outside, even as her words prickled the edges of something I didn't want to acknowledge.
I stood slowly, careful not to reveal the subtle tremor in my chest. "I should go," I said simply.
She nodded, her smile gentle, conciliatory. "Take care, Ysabelle."
I stepped into the crisp morning air, the café's warmth fading behind me.
The streets were quiet, the town still waking.
I kept my cap low, hoodie tight, and walked with deliberate steps toward the hospital, toward Ken.
The coffee cup in my hand had long gone cold, but the heat it carried seemed to settle in my chest, mingling with the storm of thoughts I refused to name.