The aroma of freshly brewed coffee wrapped around us like a warm hug, a sharp contrast to the chill of the rain outside. The little café was quieter now, the hum of the espresso machine filling the pauses in our conversation. I slid into the chair opposite Ademola, feeling the kind of nervous excitement that made my palms sweat just a little.
"Here's your cappuccino," he said, sliding the cup across the table. The steam curled upward, blurring the line between us and the world outside. I smiled, suddenly aware of how close he was. "Thanks," I murmured, my voice softer than I expected.
We talked about everything and nothing—books we loved, music we couldn't stop replaying, childhood memories that made us both laugh. It was easy, like we'd known each other longer than a month, longer than the texts, longer than the accidental glances at the gallery opening that had started this.
Then, as if the words themselves had a life of their own, the conversation shifted.
"I have to tell you something," he said, leaning forward. His hands wrapped loosely around his cup. "I've been thinking… since we met. I don't know why, but… you feel different. You make me want to be… better. Not in a big way, just… better."
My chest tightened. I'd imagined hearing those words, but nothing could prepare me for this moment, for the intensity in his eyes that made everything else fade away—the traffic, the neon lights outside, even the persistent hum of the city.
"I… feel the same," I admitted, almost in a whisper. "I didn't want to say it first, because I wasn't sure…"
He smiled then, that slow, easy smile that made the corners of the café seem brighter. "Neither did I. I guess… we were both waiting for the other to speak first."
The air between us felt electric, charged with words unspoken and feelings finally acknowledged. For the first time, I allowed myself to imagine a tomorrow that included him, not just as a fleeting moment in the rain, but as something more enduring.
"Do you… want to take a walk?" he asked, eyes flicking toward the rain-soaked streets.
I nodded. "Yeah. I'd like that."
We stepped outside, the city lights reflecting on wet pavement, illuminating the world as if it were just for us. The rain had slowed to a drizzle, and every step we took felt like a silent promise—a whisper of something neither of us could yet name, but both of us hoped would last.
And as we walked side by side, our hands brushing just enough to send shivers down my spine, I realized that maybe, just maybe, the tomorrow we had been whispering about had already begun.