Ava wasn't sure when the café had become their meeting place. It wasn't planned. They never texted or called. They didn't even exchange last names. But every afternoon for the next week, Julian appeared.
He never arrived at the same time, never wore the same expression, but always, without fail, gravitated toward her table. Sometimes he spoke little, sometimes he spoke too much—but he always listened. And Ava, for the first time in what felt like years, found herself speaking in ways she never had with anyone else.
She told him about her job at the publishing house, how she read other people's stories all day but hadn't touched her own writing in years. How she once believed she was meant for something more than editing other people's dreams.
He told her about the cities he'd lived in—Paris, Lisbon, Istanbul—but never mentioned why he left them. Only that he had.
There were pauses between their conversations, silences that most people would find awkward. Not them. They lived in the quiet like it was a shared apartment.
But today, something felt different.
Julian's shoulders were tenser. His eyes, always alert, seemed… distracted. Distant. And his coffee, usually gone within minutes, remained untouched.
"You're somewhere else today," Ava said.
He looked up sharply, like he'd forgotten she was there.
"Sorry," he murmured. "Just a lot on my mind."
"You want to talk about it?"
A shadow flickered behind his eyes. "No. But I think I should."
He leaned forward, elbows on the table, hands clasped.
"There's something I haven't told you," he said slowly. "Something that might change how you see me."
Ava's heart beat faster, but she kept her voice calm. "Okay."
"I left Istanbul eight months ago. That's where I lived before this city. I was working with a gallery there—photography—and… I fell in love."
His voice wavered slightly, like the words had weight he wasn't used to carrying.
"She was brilliant. Wild, free. And I thought—foolishly—that I could keep up with her. That I was enough."
Ava didn't speak. She just watched him, listened.
"She cheated," he said. "Not once. Multiple times. And the worst part is… I forgave her. Over and over. Until one day, I couldn't recognize myself anymore."
His hands unclenched, resting flat on the table now. "So I left. Sold everything. Burned the bridge behind me."
A long silence passed.
Ava's voice was soft. "You still love her?"
He looked up, eyes fierce. "No. I miss the person I was before her. That's what hurts."
And in that moment, Ava understood something she hadn't expected. This wasn't a man broken by heartbreak—this was a man trying to find the pieces of himself again.
She reached across the table, not thinking, just moving. Her hand brushed his.
Julian looked down at their hands. "You don't have to touch broken things, Ava."
"I know," she said. "But maybe I want to."
His fingers curled slightly around hers. No pressure. No force. Just quiet permission.
Outside the window, the light shifted as clouds passed the sun, casting shadows and gold across the floor. Neither of them noticed.
Because in that moment, under the soft hum of a crowded café and the weight of unspoken pain, something unbreakable began to form.
And neither of them said a word.