Fragments of Us

Episode 3

I didn’t expect to see him again the next day. Or maybe I did. I couldn’t quite tell which thought bothered me more. The café hadn’t changed. It never did. The soft hush lived inside the café. The kind that didn’t come from silence, but from everything moving gently at once. That was why I came here.

Not for the coffee. Not for books. But for the absence of interruption.

And yet, he was there.

Sitting in the same place by the window, as though the world had arranged itself around him once again. This time, he wasn’t still. Not entirely. His fingers moved idly against the side of his cup, tapping in a slow, uneven rhythm. His gaze followed something outside, cars passing, people walking, but there was a distance to it, like he was watching without really seeing.

I paused near the entrance for half a second too long. I could leave. There were other cafés. Other quiet places where I wouldn’t have to think about conversations that felt unfinished or expressions I couldn’t quite explain. It would be easy. Simple. Safe. But instead, I walked in.

The decision felt smaller than it was. Like something my body chose before my mind had the chance to interfere. I ordered my usual coffee. Took my usual seat. Opened my book. And I tried not to notice him. It worked. For exactly three minutes.

“You came back.” The voice was softer this time.

Familiar, but not entirely. I looked up. Julian stood beside my table again, but something about him felt… different. Not wrong. Not sharp like before. Just lighter.

His posture was more relaxed, shoulders less tense, as though whatever weight he carried yesterday had loosened its hold, even if only slightly. His gaze met mine with a quiet steadiness, warm in a way that didn’t feel forced. Present. But not the same presence.

I closed my book slowly. “I could say the same thing.”

A faint smile touched his lips. “Fair.”

He hesitated for a moment, glancing briefly at the empty chair across from mine, as if asking permission without actually asking. I noticed. Of course, I did.

“You don’t have to wait for an invitation,” I said. “You’ve already done this once.”

That smile again. Softer this time. He sat.

“Then I’ll assume I’m allowed.”

“For now.”

There was a brief pause, but it didn’t feel as strained as yesterday. The silence had shifted into something quieter, more natural. Not comfortable but not resisting itself either.

Julian glanced at the book in my hands.

“Did you make any progress?”

I followed his gaze, then shook my head slightly.

“No.”

“Still deciding?”

“Still not reading.”

Another small breath of amusement escaped him, more noticeable this time.

“I think I like that,” he said.

“Like what?”

“The idea of sitting with something without needing to finish it.”

I studied him.

“That’s one way to justify distraction.”

“Or patience.”

“Or avoidance.”

He tilted his head slightly, considering that.

“Maybe all three.”

The answer came too easily. Too smoothly.

I felt it again, that quiet sense of imbalance. Not in what he said, but in how it felt. Like the rhythm of the conversation had shifted into something more fluid, more aligned. More… him. But which of him?

I leaned my back slightly, crossing my arms.

“You don’t remember yesterday very clearly, do you?”

The question landed softly, but its weight was undeniable.

Julian blinked once. Just once.

And in that single fleeting moment, something faltered. It wasn’t obvious. Not enough for anyone else to notice. But I saw it. A pause that lasted a fraction too long.

A flicker behind his eyes, like he was reaching for something just out of grasp.

“I remember,” he said.

But there was hesitation in it. Not doubt. Not quite.

Just… distance. I didn’t look away.

“Then what did we talk about?”

Another pause. Longer this time. His gaze shifted slightly, unfocused for a brief second before returning to her. His fingers stilled against the table, the earlier rhythm breaking without warning.

“I…” he started. And stopped. The silence stretched.

I felt something tighten in my chest. Not triumph, not validation, but something quieter. Heavier. Because I already knew. She had known before she asked.

“You don’t,” she said gently.

It wasn’t cruel. It wasn’t accusing. Just… true.

Julian exhaled slowly, his gaze dropping to the table for a moment before lifting back to hers.

“I remember talking to you,” he said carefully. “I just,” He paused again, searching.

“…don’t remember everything.” I held his gaze.

“Like what?”

Another flicker. Another shift.

And then, “It’s not important,” he said.

The warmth was still there. But now it was guarded. Controlled.

Like a door that had been left open just long enough before being quietly closed again.

I felt it immediately. That subtle retreat. Not something physical. But rather it’s something deeper than that. I uncrossed my arms slowly, my fingers brushing lightly against the edge of my book.

“It might be,” she said.

“For you?”

“For me.”

Julian studied me for a moment, something unreadable settling behind his expression.

“I don’t think you want it to be,” he replied.

The words were quiet. Careful. But they landed heavier than expected. I frowned slightly.

“And why is that?”

He didn’t answer right away. For a second, just a second, his gaze drifted again. Not away from me, but through mine. Like he had lost track of where he was, or who he was supposed to be at that moment.

And then, he blinked. The shift was almost invisible. But when he spoke again, his voice was softer. Warmer and different.

“Because it would make things complicated,” he said gently.

I stilled. There it was. Again. Not just a change in tone. Not just a difference in mood.

A shift.

Clear enough now that I couldn’t ignore it. Couldn’t explain it away as imagination or coincidence or anything else that made sense.

I stared at him, searching his face for something or anything that could ground what I was seeing into something logical. But there was nothing. Just him. And yet, not him. At the same time.

“You just changed,” I said quietly.

Julian frowned slightly, genuine confusion crossing his features.

“Changed?”

I didn’t answer immediately. Because how could I explain something I didn’t understand myself? How could I put into words the feeling of watching someone become someone else without moving at all?

My grip tightened slightly around my book. This was it. The moment when I should stand up. Walk away. To end, whatever this was before, it became something I couldn’t control. Before it became something familiar in the worst way.

Unstable. Unpredictable. Dangerous.

And.. Of course. I didn’t move. I didn’t leave. I didn’t even look away.

Instead, I did the one thing I had promised myself I would never do again. I stayed. And across from me, Julian smiled softly, unaware of the storm quietly unfolding between us. Or perhaps, not entirely unaware.

Julian wrapped his hands around the cup, grounding himself in the warmth. “So… yesterday me. What was he like?”

I considered that question. “ Quiet. Careful with words. A little.. Distant, but not in a cold way.”

He nodded slowly. “That sounds like me.”

“Not exactly,” I said. “You’re a bit more… here.”

That seemed to catch him off guard. “I’m not sure if that’s a good thing.”

“I think it is.”

Another pause, but softer this time.

“So,” he cleared his throat, shifting slightly. “What do you do?”

“I work in publishing,” I said. “Mostly editing. A lot of sitting, reading, fixing things that almost work.”

“That sounds… Peaceful.”

“It is until deadlines exist.” I smiled faintly. “What about you?”

He looked hesitant.

“I..” He stopped. His brows pulled together. “That’s… harder than it should be.” “You don’t have to answer it perfectly though,” I said.

“I know. It’s just…” he exhaled, his fingers tightening slightly around the cup. “I do freelance design, be it architectural design or just any design. I usually draw a lot. But, sometimes, other times, I pick up things like short jobs, deliveries, whatever feels manageable.”

“Manageable?” I echoed softly. “Depends on the day,” he said. “Some days I can focus on it for hours. Other days…” he trailed off. I didn’t rush him.

“Other days I lose time.” he finished quietly. My expression didn’t change into pity, just understanding.

“Is that what happened yesterday?” He gave a small nod. “I think so.” A moment passed, steady and unbroken. “Then I’m glad you sat here again,” I said. He looked at me, with a softer setting in his gaze. “Even if I don’t remember it?”

“Even then,” I replied. “I do.”

That seemed to land somewhere deep.

“So,” I continued, gently nudging the conversations forward, “When you’re not losing time or working… What do you do?” He thought about it, longer than expected. “I came here,” he said finally.

I smiled. “That can’t be the only thing.”

“It’s the most consistent thing,” he admitted. “Coffee. Same place. Same chair, if it’s free.”

“Routine helps?”

“It does.” He glanced at me. “Apparently, so do familiar faces.”

My fingers traced the edge of my cup, a quiet habit. “I usually come before work. Around this time. It’s… my way of starting my day slowly.”

“Then maybe that’s something we share,” he said.

“Maybe it is.”

Another silence, but this one felt warmer, like it had already learned how to exist between them.

“I should go soon,” I said, though her voice didn’t carry urgency.

“Yeah,” he agreed. “Me too.”

Neither of us moved.

“Same time tomorrow?” he asked, almost like he was testing whether the question was allowed. I met his eyes, steady. “Even if you don’t remember?”

He held my gaze for a moment, something honest and unguarded slipping through. “I think… some part of me will.”

I nodded, a small, certain smile forming. “Then I’ll be here.”

He exhaled softly, as if that answer mattered more than expected. For a moment, the world outside the café felt far away. And this time, even if memory failed, something chose to stay.