Three days.
That was how long Lila lasted before giving in to the pull of Caffè Onda again.
She told herself she was just going to sketch.
She told herself Florence was too beautiful to waste a morning indoors.
She told herself she wasn't waiting for anyone.
She was lying and she knew it.
She arrived earlier than usual, choosing the small corner table near the window—the same place she'd sat the first time she saw him.
The café was warm with the scent of toasted hazelnuts and fresh espresso, quiet except for the soft hum of conversation from an older couple by the door.
Lila set her sketchbook on the table, though she had no intention of drawing. Her fingers tapped lightly against the cover, restless, betraying her nerves.
She had replayed that morning with Asher in her mind so many times she had practically memorized every detail—the deep warmth of his voice, the quiet curve of his smile, the way he leaned forward when he listened to her. She hated that part of her feared it had been a one-time moment, the kind of encounter life offered only to take away.
She tried not to stare at the door every time it opened.
Tried and failed.
On the fifth chime of the bell, he walked in.
He looked almost the same as before—tall, composed, dressed in a soft charcoal sweater that made his eyes appear deeper… except this time, his hair was down. Dark waves slipped past his jaw, slightly damp, like he'd just showered and rushed out the door.
And then he saw her.
It happened slowly, like a scene unfolding in perfect timing. His steps slowed, his head tilted just a fraction, and the faintest smile spread across his face—soft, warm, unmistakably for her.
Lila felt her cheeks lift in an involuntary grin.
He crossed the room without hesitation.
"Morning," Asher said, voice low but brightened with surprise. "I was half expecting to see you here."
"I could say the same," she replied, hoping she sounded casual rather than like someone whose heartbeat had sprinted across the room to greet him. "I was just… sketching."
His eyes flicked to the closed sketchbook. "Were you?"
She pressed her palm over it, protective. "In spirit."
He laughed quietly and sat across from her without asking, like it was the most natural thing in the world. A small thrill ran through her at the assumption.
A waiter passed, and Asher ordered a black coffee, then glanced at her cup.
"Trying coffee again?"
"Attempting to," she said with a grimace. "It still tastes like burnt decisions, but apparently adults drink it."
"Only the brave ones," he replied, smiling.
The air between them settled into something warm, like an unspoken agreement: yes, we're happy to see each other; yes, this feels good.
After a moment, Asher leaned back. "So, what brings you to Florence anyway? Still a mystery."
Lila twirled her cup between her hands. "Gap year."
"That's it?" he asked gently.
"That's it," she said with a light shrug. "A year to myself. A year to breathe a little. A year to… reset."
She didn't mention hospitals.
Or scans.
Or her mother's cry muffled through a bedroom wall.
She didn't mention the nights she'd woken drenched in fear.
Or the word she refused to say aloud unless necessary.
She didn't have to. Her tone held enough truth for the moment.
Asher studied her quietly—not prying, but attentive. She liked that about him already. He treated silence as something meaningful, not awkward.
"And your sketchbook?" he asked at last, nodding toward it. "Is it for Florence?"
"Depends on the day," she said, tapping the cover. "Sometimes it's Florence. Sometimes it's random strangers. Sometimes it's just… whatever my mind needs to let out."
"Can I see it?" he asked, almost as if ready for her to say no.
"Nope," she said quickly, flipping the book farther from his reach. "Not today."
"Why?"
"It's a chaos journal. Not a showcase."
"Chaos is interesting," he murmured.
"Not mine," she countered. "What about you? What's your chaos these days?"
He raised a brow. "That's a suspiciously swift change of subject."
"I'm suspiciously talented."
He laughed again, a sound she was beginning to crave. "Alright. My chaos?" He exhaled. "Work. We're launching a new project, and it's been… demanding."
"What kind of project?"
His fingers drummed lightly against his cup. "Something in Artificail Intelligence, predictive systems, user-adaptive interfaces, a platform we've been testing for over a year. It's innovative, but complicated. Every time we think we're close, another problem shows up."
He paused, then added, "But I won't bore you."
"You weren't," she said honestly. "I like hearing people talk about the things they care about."
Something softened in his expression at that.
"What about you?" he asked. "Besides sketching, what else captures your time here?"
Lila paused—intentionally dramatic. "Let's see… long walks, getting lost, pretending to understand Italian, failing to understand Italian, trying new foods, making questionable food choices, and occasionally staring at statues because they're more attractive than they should be."
He smiled. "That sounds like a solid list."
"I do my best."
He leaned slightly forward, elbows on the table. "And if you could do something else here—something new—what would it be?"
She feigned deep contemplation. "Hmm… maybe interview strangers about their lives. Or collect stories. Or ask people their favorite memories so I can live vicariously through them."
"Favorite memories?" he echoed.
"Yes," she said. "What's yours? Since I need inspiration for how to spend the rest of my time here."
Asher took a moment—actually thinking about it.
Finally, he said, "I'd say… Valencia. I went there alone once, years ago. No schedule, no work obligations. Just time. I remember sitting on the beach one evening, and everything felt very… quiet. Not empty. Just quiet in the way life rarely is. It felt like breathing for the first time in a long time."
Lila rested her chin on her hand. "That's beautiful."
He shrugged, slightly embarrassed. "It was simple. But it stayed with me."
Their drinks arrived. Conversation drifted between little stories, quick jokes, soft teases. It surprised her how quickly her nerves settled. With Asher, there was no awkwardness, no overthinking—just a pleasant rhythm, like the city had paused just to give them space.
Midway through a sentence about her disastrous attempt to cook Italian pasta the local way, Asher's phone buzzed loudly.
He sighed. "Sorry—give me a moment."
"Of course," she said, waving him off.
He stepped outside, his expression tightening as he spoke into the phone. Through the window, she watched his hand move through his hair, watched frustration tighten his jaw, watched him nod slowly, attentively.
He didn't return for five minutes.
By the time he did, a small line had formed between his brows.
"Everything okay?" she asked gently.
His eyes flicked to hers, and he gave a faint smile. "Work stuff. The project. It's… more demanding than we thought."
"I'm sorry," she murmured.
He shook his head. "That's life in tech. But I'd rather talk about anything else than architecture flaws and data failure points."
"Deal," she said.
Then he paused, palms flat on the table, gaze steady on her.
"Actually… there's something I would like to talk about."
Lila's breath caught.
"Yes?" she asked softly.
He hesitated for exactly one second—just long enough for her heart to climb into her throat.
"Would you like to go on a date with me?" he asked.
The world stilled.
Florence stilled.
Lila blinked once. Twice.
A slow smile pulled at her lips.
"What do you think we've been doing all this time?" she asked, teasing lightly, heart thundering in her chest.
He breathed out a laugh—quiet, delighted.
"So that's a yes?"
"Yes," she said, cheeks warm. "Definitely yes."
And for the second time in her life…
she watched him smile at her.