Not An Ordinary Love Song

Chapter 9 : The Hill

That afternoon, Aston deliberately parked just short of his apartment gate.

He was driving Andrew’s car, of course. During concert season, it was nearly impossible for him to use his own. Too many people had memorized it—the sleek body, the custom plates, the way it purred even at idle. One glimpse and word would spread before he could step out.

He waited.

Three hours slipped by. The sky dimmed from gold to violet, then into the first wash of dusk. She never appeared.

Disappointment settled quietly in his chest, but he pushed the engine to life anyway and steered toward the café—the same café where he had held his last gig. Traffic was suffocating. Office workers flooded the sidewalks. Public buses bulged with bodies pressed against fogged windows. Red brake lights glowed in long, endless lines ahead of him, including his own.

As he inched forward, a dangerous thought crossed his mind.

What if he walked away from all of it? The fame. The spotlight. The endless eyes watching his every move. What if he lived as a civilian?

The idea felt both impossible and tempting.

Still, gratitude grounded him. Everything he had now—every stage, every roaring crowd—was something he had once prayed for.

Then—

A familiar silhouette on the sidewalk.

His breath hitched.

Ariana.

She was walking with that unmistakable poise, hair catching the fading light. Aston’s hand flew to his phone instinctively.

He froze.

He didn’t have her number.

A frustrated breath escaped him. Damn.

Traffic pushed him forward before he could think of anything reckless. Thirty minutes later—longer than usual—he reached the café.

He parked.

And there she was.

Through the window, seated near the glass. A notebook lay open beside her, papers spread neatly across the table. She was reading intently, pen moving in steady strokes. Serious. Focused. Entirely absorbed in whatever world she was building on those pages.

What is she working on?

Aston slipped out of the car and moved quickly, head lowered, before anyone on the street could recognize him. Instead of entering the main floor, he headed straight to the owner’s private room and quietly peeked through the small gap in the curtain.

“You think I don’t notice?”

He flinched.

Jill stood behind him, arms crossed. She had clearly been watching him since he arrived—perhaps even from the moment he parked outside.

“You’ve been eyeing her since your last gig,” she continued dryly. “It was painfully obvious. The staring. The stolen glances.”

Aston straightened, running a hand through his hair. “It’s too dangerous to even greet her.”

The memory struck him instantly—the night Ariana’s drink had been spiked. The panic. The helpless fury. He could never bear to see her put at risk like that again.

Jill’s teasing expression softened slightly. “Yeah. I know.”

She leaned against the wall and made a dramatic shiver. “I can’t even show my face near you without worrying some headline will pop up tomorrow. ‘God’s Ark Spotted at Local Café.’ I’d die from the sudden spotlight.”

He smirked faintly. “That would be great. I could come out right now and promote you.”

“Don’t even think about it.” She shot him a look. “I’m satisfied exactly where I am. When I’m ready, I’ll call you.”

Aston retreated to her small pantry instead, brewing himself a cup of coffee just to keep his hands busy. He sank onto the sofa and picked up the latest magazine on the table, flipping through pages he didn’t truly see.

Across from him, Jill watched in silence.

After a moment, she lifted one eyebrow and subtly pointed toward the window.

“By the way,” she said casually, “that girl comes here every Thursday and Friday. Same hours. Stays until we close.”

Her lips curved into a thin, knowing smile. An invitation without saying it outright.

Aston’s expression shifted instantly—the heaviness lifting, replaced by something brighter. Hope.

“Well,” he said, unable to hide it this time, “thank you.”

Through the window, Ariana had paused her writing. She was gazing outside now, thoughtful, distant.

And for the first time that day, Aston felt like maybe—just maybe—timing was finally on his side. Tomorrow is Friday!

______

Friday came with a pale, forgiving light.

Ariana arrived at the café at the same hour as always—canvas tote on her shoulder, notebook tucked inside, hair loosely tied as if she hadn’t bothered to tame it too much. Routine steadied her.

Thursday and Friday evenings here had become her quiet ritual.

But the moment she pushed the door open, something felt wrong.

No low hum of conversation.

No clinking cups.

No soft laughter blending into the scent of roasted beans.

Silence.

The lights were on. The air still carried the familiar warmth of coffee and wood. But the tables were empty.

Her brows furrowed.

Jill appeared from behind the counter, offering a slightly awkward smile. “We’re… closed for a private booking tonight.”

Ariana blinked. “Oh. I didn’t see any announcement.”

“Last minute,” Jill replied too quickly, then stepped aside.

And then she saw him.

Aston was standing near her usual table, hands in his pockets, looking almost too composed for someone who had clearly orchestrated this.

Understanding dawned.

“You did this?” Ariana asked quietly.

Aston gave a half-smile. “I just wanted us to talk without interruptions.”

Ariana glanced around the empty café. The silence pressed in, heavier than she expected.

“I like the interruptions,” she said.

He frowned slightly. “What?”

“The background noise. The normal atmosphere. People chatting. Cups clinking. It feels… alive.” She set her bag down slowly. “This feels like a stage.”

“It’s safer,” he answered, a bit firmer now. “No one taking photos. No gossip blogs writing headlines. No one getting too curious.”

Her gaze sharpened. “You can’t put the world on pause every time you want something to feel safe, Aston.”

A brief flicker of tension crossed his face.

“And you can’t pretend the world isn’t dangerous,” he shot back.

The air tightened between them.

Ariana folded her arms. “This bubble you’re building—it’s not for me. It’s for you.”

Silence.

The words landed.

Aston looked away first.

“You think I don’t know that?” he said more quietly. “I live in a constant performance. Every move is watched. Every interaction analyzed. I just… wanted one place that wasn’t.”

“And you think emptiness makes it real?” she asked softly.

He exhaled through his nose, some of the resistance leaving him. “No. I think control does.”

That made her pause.

They stood there for a long second, neither moving. Then Ariana sighed and sat down anyway. After a beat, he joined her.

The quiet no longer felt confrontational. Just exposed.

“You’re lonely,” she said gently.

It wasn’t an accusation. It was an observation.

Aston let out a humorless breath. “That obvious?”

“Yes.”

He leaned back in his chair, eyes drifting to the dark window. “When you chose 'this path,’ as they call it, you’re never alone. Always noise.” His jaw tightened. “But none of it belongs to you. Not really.”

Ariana listened without interrupting.

“You can’t trust intentions,” he continued. “You don’t know if someone likes you or the version of you that sells tickets. A normal relationship?” He gave a faint shake of his head. “That’s almost a fantasy. Even when I talk to you like this, took so much effort."

Her fingers traced the rim of her cup.

“You know,” she said slowly, “being alone too much is dangerous too.”

He glanced at her.

“When you get used to handling everything yourself. When you start feeling secure in your own silence.” Her voice softened, eyes sharpen. “One day you realize being secluded is more comfortable than being seen.”

Aston studied her more carefully now.

“That’s not maturity,” she added. “It’s self-protection.”

A faint, knowing look crossed his face. “And you’re telling me this because…?”

“Because I see it,” she replied.

“In me?”

Held his gaze. “And in myself.”

The honesty between them shifted something.

For a moment, she looked fragile—shoulders slightly drawn in, as if the world pressed too hard against her edges. Yet her eyes were steady. Perceptive. She read him in ways most people never dared to.

“You look strong,” Aston said quietly. “But you brace for impact before anything even happens.”

Ariana gave a small, surprised smile. “You’re more observant than you pretend to be.”

He shrugged lightly. “I’ve had to grow up fast.”

There it was—the maturity beneath the celebrity gloss. The boyish charm people saw on stage was only one layer. Beneath it lived someone who had learned to calculate risks, to anticipate betrayal, to survive in bright light without burning.

They sat in the stillness, but this time it didn’t feel hollow.

Outside, the city moved as usual—cars passing, distant horns, life unfolding beyond the glass. Ariana could almost imagine the café filled again with its usual chatter, the comforting white noise she loved.

“I don’t want to live in a bubble,” she said finally. “Not yours. Not mine.”

Aston nodded slowly.

“Then maybe,” he replied, voice steady now, “we don’t build one. We just… sit in the noise together.”

It wasn’t a grand promise.

It wasn’t dramatic.

But for two people who had mastered solitude in completely different ways, it felt like the most dangerous—and honest—proposal of all.

They sat there long after the words had run out.

The café remained closed, dim lights casting soft amber shadows across empty tables. Neither of them reached for their phones. Neither tried to fill the quiet. The earlier conversation lingered, replaying in fragments inside both their minds.

Control. Loneliness. Seclusion.

Midnight crept in unnoticed.

Aston glanced at the clock, then at Ariana. “Do you want to drive?”

“Anywhere,” he said again. “It’s weekend.”

There was something boyish in the way he said it—reckless, but not careless.

Ariana studied him for a second, then nodded once. “Okay.”

Jill locked up behind them with a knowing look but no comment this time.

They slipped into the car. The city at night felt different—looser, quieter, like it had taken off its tight collar. Streetlights stretched in golden lines. Music played low from the speakers, something instrumental, almost unnoticeable.

They drove without a fixed destination until the buildings thinned and the air turned cooler. Asphalt slowly gave way to winding roads. Trees grew denser. The city lights faded behind them like a fallen constellation.

Aston pulled into a small parking lot near a mountainous trail.

If the world weren’t watching him, he would have booked a room somewhere discreet. Something simple. Safe. But even a shadow of his name on a registry could turn into a headline by morning.

So he parked instead.

Ariana had fallen asleep during the drive, her head tilted slightly toward the window, lashes resting softly against her cheeks.

He watched her for a moment before carefully lowering her seat so her neck wouldn’t strain.

Then he stepped outside.

The air was colder here, thinner. The parking lot was empty—no engines, no voices, no camera flashes hiding in the dark. Just silence.

Aston walked to a wooden bench nearby and lay down, hands tucked behind his head, staring up at a sky scattered with indifferent stars.

For once, no one was watching him.

At exactly three in the morning, the car door clicked open.

He lifted his head.

Ariana stepped out, hair slightly messy, eyes still adjusting. “Why are you outside?”

“Couldn’t sleep,” he said. “You?”

“I don’t know. Something woke me.”

They stood there, wrapped in the cool pre-dawn air.

Aston nodded toward the dark silhouette of the hill. “Want to climb?”

She followed his gaze upward. “Now?”

“Sunrise will be worth it.”

A small pause.

“Okay,” she said again.