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929 Words
The cafe buzzed with chatter, cups clinking and pages rustling as students pretended to study more than they actually did. Appie, chin propped on her hand, let out a dramatic sigh loud enough to compete with the espresso machine.
“It’s ridiculous,” she declared. “Last semester we’re partners, and now not even once? What kind of cruel joke is this?”
Across from her, Baron stirred his coffee with unhurried calm, as if her words floated harmlessly past him.
“Don’t you dare smile like that,” she warned, narrowing her eyes when the faintest curve touched his lips. “You’re not getting rid of me. This weekend, we’re going out. No excuses. You don’t even get a say. I’ll decide where.”
Baron lifted his cup, met her gaze for a second, and drank. Still silent. Still calm.
Appie leaned back, triumphant. “See? That’s as good as a yes.”
Baron only set down his cup, eyes steady, expression unreadable. Which, to Appie, was practically an admission of defeat.
---
The dorm was alive with its usual chaos—music leaking from one room, footsteps thumping down the hall, someone laughing two doors away. Inside their room, Clemence had her hair wrapped in a towel, sprawled sideways on Lea’s bed while flipping through her notes.
She looked up just in time to catch Lea smiling at her phone, eyes brighter than usual. Clemence grinned. “Ahhh, I see it,” she sang, pointing dramatically. “That look. Don’t deny it.”
Lea threw a pillow at her, laughing. “What look?”
“The look of someone who just found out they’re in the same group as a certain someone.” Clemence rolled onto her back, holding the pillow over her face in mock swoon. “Baron Blaise, the quiet mystery himself!”
Lea collapsed onto her bed beside her, both of them laughing until the noise drew a bang on the wall from their neighbor. They muffled their giggles in the blankets like children.
When the laughter finally ebbed, Clemence peeked at her with a sly smile. “So? You like him.”
Lea hesitated, twisting the corner of her blanket in her fingers. “I don’t know,” she admitted softly. “It’s… it feels different, but I don’t even know what it is yet.”
Clemence nudged her shoulder. “That’s how it starts.”
Lea shook her head, smiling faintly. “Maybe. Or maybe it’s nothing.”
But her eyes, still lit, said otherwise.
---
The bell above the door chimed softly as Baron pushed it open. The familiar hush of the shop wrapped around him at once—the faint must of old paper, mingling with the sharper, almost citrus tang of the roasted beans Cecile always brewed in the little pot behind the counter. The shelves, crowded and leaning, stood like old friends waiting.
Cecile was perched on a high stool, one leg tucked under her. She looked up from her book, her expression breaking into a bright smile. “There you are,” she said. “I was starting to think you’d deserted me.”
Baron set a well-worn novel on the counter. She gave a satisfied nod, then reached under her chair and produced her own copy, spine just as creased. “Finished,” she announced. “Every page. What did you think?”
Baron’s eyes softened, and he gave a small nod—the closest thing to praise he ever offered. Cecile laughed at his silence. “Yeah, me too. Dark, clever, a little cruel. Just the way we like it.”
She studied him as she slid both books aside. “So… tell me. Did you actually go home? Do anything else during the break? Or did you just sit in that flat of yours, reading cover to cover like a hermit?”
Baron looked down at the counter, tracing the grain of the wood with his fingertip. He didn’t answer.
The pause stretched, but Cecile didn’t fill it. She just watched him, her smile softening, her tone gentler when she spoke again. “Right,” she said quietly. “I see.”
Baron shifted slightly, as though an apology hovered on his lips.
She leaned forward on her elbows, lowering her voice as though the books might overhear. “Next time… don’t just sit there alone. Just come here. No need to buy anything, no need for excuses. You can read here, drink coffee here. I’ll even let you argue with me about endings.”
That pulled the faintest twitch of amusement at the corner of Baron’s mouth.
Cecile grinned, victorious. “There it is. A smile. I was starting to worry the winter had frozen it off your face.”
Baron shook his head slightly, but the smile lingered, quiet and unguarded.
Cecile slid a small stack of books toward him—three fresh spines, their jackets gleaming. “Here. I picked these out for you. No wandering the shelves this time. Trust me. I know what you’ll like.”
He looked at the titles, then at her, and gave a single, deliberate nod. It was his way of saying more than he could put into words.
The bell chimed again as another customer entered, breaking the moment. Cecile straightened on her stool, but before Baron turned away, she tapped the books with her finger. “Don’t forget. Next time, here. You’re not a ghost, Blaise.”
Baron collected the novels, his silence carrying the weight of gratitude she didn’t need spoken aloud.
- Writer
