By Monday, the weekend felt like a memory that kept replaying in small moments — the scent of lavender still clinging to Hannah's sweater, a text from Emma in the middle of a busy morning that just said thinking of you.
Life didn't pause for either of them. The mural project at the community center was nearing its final stage, and the café had its usual rush of early customers. But under the rhythm of routine, something new pulsed quietly between them — the kind of warmth that didn't fade once the moment ended.
Emma stopped by the café midweek, carrying a sketch rolled under her arm. She leaned on the counter, that familiar grin tugging at her lips. "You've been hiding," she teased.
"Some of us actually work during daylight hours," Hannah said, though her smile gave her away.
Emma unrolled the paper, revealing a new version of the mural's centerpiece — two sets of intertwined brushstrokes forming a burst of color that looked almost like sunlight breaking through storm clouds.
"I thought it could use something… hopeful," Emma said quietly.
Hannah stared at it, her throat tightening just a little. "It's beautiful."
"Good. Then it's yours."
The café door opened, a customer stepping in, and just like that, the moment broke — but not in a painful way. More like the world reminding them to breathe.
That evening, Hannah found the sketch propped against her kitchen wall, still unframed, edges curling slightly. She didn't hang it yet. She just looked at it for a long while, realizing that somehow, in a week of work and ordinary days, hopeful had become the right word for everything between them.