Atasha's POV
I hadn't planned on seeing him the next day. After that kiss, I needed space—time to sort through the sudden bloom of old feelings. But life has a funny way of nudging people together when they least expect it.
I was walking out of the art exhibit where my dress sketches were being displayed again—just a small showcase. My mind was occupied with color palettes and fabric ideas when I bumped into someone hard.
Sketches flew. I stumbled back.
"Careful," a familiar voice chuckled. "You'll start thinking I'm stalking you."
Antonio.
Of course.
I sighed, half-laughing, half-panicked as he bent down and picked up my sketches, careful not to smudge them.
"What are you doing here?" I asked, watching him with cautious eyes.
"I could ask you the same. But since I got here first, I win," he said with that teasing grin I both loved and hated.
Antonio's POV
I hadn't planned on seeing her either. But I'd heard about the exhibit from someone who saw her name on the list, and honestly… I just wanted to see her smile again—unfiltered, focused, in her element.
"I thought maybe, if you had time, we could grab something to eat?" I offered, handing her the last sketch.
She hesitated. Then gave a small nod. "Only if you let me choose the place."
I raised my hands in surrender. "Your city, your rules."
She chose a small café tucked away behind a row of bookstores. The kind of place with too many plants and mismatched chairs—and I'd never seen her more at home.
Over coffee and sandwiches, the walls between us softened.
We laughed about our old classmates. She showed me some of her fashion designs on her phone—lines, textures, bold yet elegant. And I told her about my startup, the stress, the wild risks, the moment I thought it would all collapse.
Atasha's POV
It didn't feel like a date. But then again… maybe it was.
It felt safe.
When he reached for the sugar jar and spilled it all over the table, I burst out laughing—real, head-thrown-back laughter. He grinned like he'd just found his favorite sound again.
After lunch, we walked along the riverside, like yesterday, but this time there was no tension. He told me about his mom, how she still kept the necklace I once returned in a box marked memories.
"I think she always knew," he said.
"Knew what?"
"That I wasn't done with you."
Antonio's POV
The sun was sinking, painting the sky with a thousand golds. I wanted to reach for her hand, but I didn't. Not yet.
Instead, I looked over at her and said, "You know… if all dates felt like this, maybe I wouldn't have messed things up before."
She rolled her eyes, but there was warmth behind them now.
"No promises," she said. "You still have a lot to prove."
I smiled.
Good. Because I wasn't going anywhere.
(Next day)
Atasha's POV
The morning sunlight slipped in through the thin curtains, casting soft golden hues across my room. I sat on the edge of my bed, clutching a warm cup of tea, replaying every detail from yesterday—the café, the riverside walk, the laughter, the way his eyes searched mine like they remembered everything we once were.
My heart was both calm and alert, like it had found its rhythm again but wasn't sure how long it would last.
A message pinged on my phone.
Antonio: Morning, sleepyhead. Dreamt of you sketching in a gown made of clouds. Was it real or do I just miss you already?
I laughed under my breath. He hadn't lost his charm. But this time, it didn't feel like flirtation—it felt real. Honest. Like he was trying, carefully, gently, to earn a place again.
Me: I wasn't in a cloud gown, but I did wake up smiling. So maybe it wasn't just a dream.
The dots appeared on the screen. Then stopped. Then reappeared. Typical Antonio—thinking twice before saying something that matters.
Antonio: Would you spend another day with me? Not a date. Just... more of yesterday. I need it.
I stared at the message, my heart already answering before my fingers could type.
Me: Pick me up at 11.
Antonio's POV
I reread her message about ten times, grinning like a fool.
It wasn't a date—but it was something. A second day meant a second chance, and I didn't intend to waste it.
I drove to her place early, parked a little down the street, and waited with two coffees and a small bouquet of wildflowers—not roses. She never liked roses.
When she stepped out, wearing a simple sundress and her sketchbook tucked under one arm, my breath caught.
"Good morning," she said, sliding into the seat.
"It is now," I replied, handing her the coffee and flowers. "I remembered."
She looked at the wildflowers, a soft smile forming. "You actually remembered…"
"I forgot once," I said, starting the engine. "I don't plan to again."
And just like that, the silence between us wasn't awkward anymore.
It was healing.