The following week, Maya noticed a subtle shift in her feelings. Seeing Daniel every morning was no longer just a pleasant routine—it had become something she looked forward to, a small spark that made even the grayest New York mornings feel lighter.
On Wednesday, the café was unusually quiet. A drizzle tapped against the windows, and only a few regulars lingered over lattes. Daniel arrived right on schedule, guitar case in hand, and gave her that familiar easy smile.
"Morning," he said.
"Morning," Maya replied, trying to sound casual, though her heart had its own rhythm.
He ordered the usual and lingered by the counter for a moment.
"So," he began, "do you ever think about… future plans? I mean, not just work, but life?"
Maya blinked. "Future plans? Like moving to another city? Becoming a millionaire?" she teased lightly.
"Maybe not that extreme," he said with a laugh. "Just… what you want. Where you see yourself."
She hesitated. Most of the time, she kept those thoughts to herself. Dreams were fragile, and she wasn't sure she was ready to say them out loud.
"I… I want to write," she admitted quietly. "Maybe not a bestseller, maybe just… something real. Stories people connect with. That's the goal, I guess."
Daniel nodded thoughtfully. "That's amazing. Honestly, I'd read anything you wrote."
She felt a warmth that had nothing to do with the coffee. "Thanks, Daniel. That means a lot."
He smiled, but there was a seriousness in his eyes that made her pulse quicken.
"I have to confess something too," he said after a pause. "I… look forward to seeing you. More than I probably should."
Maya's hands froze over the counter. Her heart skipped a beat. "Really?" she whispered.
"Really," he said, and his usual calm confidence softened into something more honest, more vulnerable. "I wasn't expecting it either, but… it feels like the best part of my mornings now."
She didn't know how to respond. Part of her wanted to laugh in relief, part wanted to reach out and tell him she felt the same.
"I… I like seeing you too," she finally said, letting the words slip out before overthinking them.
A quiet smile spread across his face. "Good. I was hoping you'd say that."
For the rest of the morning, they spoke in small bursts between customers, a mix of casual chatter and shy glances that carried more meaning than words could. Every so often, their hands brushed while exchanging cups or napkins, and each time, it sent a little thrill through Maya she couldn't hide.
By the time he left, Maya was grinning like a fool, her mind buzzing with the same thought over and over: He likes me. I like him.
Walking home, she replayed their conversation in her head. Every sentence, every glance, felt significant. For the first time in years, she realized that letting someone in wasn't as terrifying as she had thought.
Later that night, she opened her notebook and began to write—not stories of strangers or imagined lives, but her own. Words came easier than they had in months, as if Daniel's honesty had unlocked something in her.
And as the rain tapped softly against her window, she allowed herself to hope.
This wasn't just a simple crush. This was something that could grow. Something real.
Something worth risking.