🌸 Chapter 2 – Late Night at The Library Café
The smell of coffee and old books wrapped around Althea like a familiar blanket. The library café, tucked in the corner of San Isidro University's main library, was small, warm, and crowded with students cramming for exams. Tiny fairy lights hung along the shelves, casting a golden glow over the worn wooden tables. It was the one place she could feel invisible and safe at the same time, where she could sip her cheap latte and pretend the world outside didn't exist.
She slid into her usual corner by the tall window, where the city lights blinked faintly in the distance, and spread out her notes across the table. Her fingers tapped nervously on her pen as she tried to focus on the essay about Philippine literature, but her mind kept drifting back to him Liwei.
It had only been one day, one brief encounter, but she couldn't shake the way his presence lingered like the scent of something she couldn't name. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw his neat white shirt, the faint curve of his smile, and the quiet way he had reached for her papers without a word.
"Hey," a low, smooth voice interrupted her thoughts.
Althea looked up, startled, and her heart thudded in her chest. There he was. Liwei. Standing awkwardly at the edge of the table, a small backpack slung over one shoulder, holding a caramel latte in his hand.
"I—uh—mind if I sit?" he asked. His accent carried the faint trace of his Chinese heritage, soft and deliberate, making every word feel careful and precise.
Althea nodded before she could stop herself. "S-sure." She tried to focus on arranging her notes, but she couldn't stop stealing glances at him.
He pulled out the chair opposite her and set his cup down with a quiet thud. The café's background chatter seemed to fade into a warm hum as he sat there, scanning her notes curiously.
"You're studying literature?" he asked, leaning slightly forward. His voice was calm but inquisitive, and for some reason, the tilt of his head made her stomach flutter.
"Yes," she replied, trying to sound confident. "Philippine literature… my favorite author is Nick Joaquin." She realized too late that she was rambling.
He raised an eyebrow, not mockingly, but intrigued. "I've never read him," he admitted. "Maybe you could… explain why he's your favorite?"
Althea blinked. "I—I guess… he makes ordinary moments feel extraordinary. Like a small story can hold the weight of the world." Her fingers brushed against the page of her notebook, and she felt an almost embarrassing warmth spread through her chest.
Liwei tilted his head again, this time more thoughtfully. "I think… I'd like to see that."
Her heart caught. Something in the way he said it, so quiet, so direct, made it feel like he wasn't just talking about a book.
They spent the next hour in a quiet bubble, surrounded by the hum of the café, with her explaining lines of poetry and passages that had always inspired her. He listened intently, asking questions, leaning closer when he didn't understand, and she caught herself imagining what it would feel like if he leaned even closer still.
When she finally looked up from her notes, she realized the library was nearly empty. The soft golden lights reflected in his eyes, making them seem almost… softer than before.
"I should probably go," she said reluctantly, gathering her papers.
He nodded, but didn't move immediately. "Do you… come here often?" he asked, a small, almost shy smile playing at his lips.
Althea laughed lightly. "Yeah, when I need to hide from life for a bit."
He smiled, and it was that rare kind of smile that felt like sunlight breaking through clouds. "Maybe… I'll come hide here too, then."
She nodded, her pulse betraying her calm words. "Maybe…"
They walked out together toward the street, where the city lights flickered against the evening air. Althea felt an odd mixture of excitement and fear. She had always been cautious—too cautious. But with him, she felt like she was standing on the edge of something thrilling, something dangerous in the best way.
As they parted at the campus gate, she realized he hadn't held her hand, hadn't kissed her, hadn't done anything at all… yet she could feel the tension lingering between them like a living thing.
The night was quiet around her as she walked home. Her thoughts were tangled with poems, essays, and him. She had a sinking feeling that her life, once orderly and predictable, was about to become anything but. And she didn't know if she was ready—or willing—to stop it.