Two weeks had passed. The city felt louder now, the days longer, the air a little heavier with summer. Yet, she still caught herself thinking about that night on the rooftop—the warmth of his hand, the unspoken comfort, the silence that had felt like a promise.

She hadn’t planned to see him again so soon. Life had its rhythm—work, errands, the usual noise. But when she passed by the small café near the harbor, she saw him through the window. Same seat. Same calm presence. The kind that drew her in before she could stop herself.

He noticed her instantly. No surprise in his expression, just a quiet smile, like he’d been expecting this all along.

“Coffee?” he asked as she approached.

“Still sweet, but not too much,” she teased, and they both laughed, the tension melting away.

They talked about the days that had come and gone. She told him about her new project, how she’d stayed up late finishing it. He shared how he’d taken early walks just to clear his head, sometimes stopping at the very rooftop where they last danced.

When the conversation slowed, he leaned forward. “I thought maybe that night was just one of those moments that feel too perfect to happen twice.”

She held his gaze. “Maybe it wasn’t about perfection. Maybe it was just real.”

Outside, a breeze carried the scent of the sea. She looked out at the harbor lights reflecting off the water. Something in her chest softened.

“I missed this,” she said quietly.

He nodded. “Me too.”

The evening unfolded slowly. They didn’t talk about the future, didn’t try to define what they were. Some connections don’t need labels; they just exist—steady, simple, like the tide.

As they walked along the pier, their hands brushed, and this time, neither pulled away.

The city hummed, the world moved, but between them was a stillness that felt like home.