Episode 8: A Small Interruption
1002 Words
Lila's POV
The next morning felt quieter than the night before.
Not better, just… less crowded in my head.
I didn’t want to stay home and think about everything that had been said or everything that hadn’t, so decided to take a walk.
The café I ended up in sat right beside a small park. You could see it clearly through the glass windows, parents on benches, kids running around, the kind of easy, everyday scene that felt far removed from everything I’d been dealing with.
It was calm.
I ordered a chocolate milkshake and biscuits, and took a seat near the window, letting myself settle.
I was halfway through my drink when my phone slipped slightly from the table, along with the pen I’d been spinning between my fingers absentmindedly. The pen rolled farther than I expected, stopping just short of someone’s shoe.
Before I could reach for it, a small hand picked it up.
“Here.”
I looked up.
A little boy stood there, holding out my pen like it was something important.
“Oh thank you,” I said, taking it from him.
He nodded once, like that was all that needed to be said.
Then he didn’t leave.
I glanced at him properly this time. He couldn’t have been more than six, but there was something about the way he stood, calm, observant, that made him seem older.
“You were going to lose it,” he said.
“I was not,” I replied. “I saw it.”
“You didn’t pick it up.”
“I was about to.”
He considered that for a second, then gave a small nod. “Okay.”
I tried not to smile.
“Do you always help people like that?” I asked.
“Only when they need it.”
“That’s fair.”
He shifted his weight slightly, then glanced toward the window.
“My nanny is outside,” he said, pointing toward the park. “She said I could come in for a minute.”
I followed his gesture and spotted a woman sitting on a bench just outside, her attention clearly split between him and whatever she was holding.
That explained it.
“You didn’t feel like staying out there?” I asked.
“It’s noisy,” he said. “And they keep shouting.”
I glanced back at the park, where a group of kids were running around. “That’s kind of the point.”
“I know,” he said. “I just don’t like it all the time.”
“That makes two of us.”
He looked at me again, like he was deciding something.
Then, “Can I sit?”
I hesitated for a second. Not because I minded, but because he asked like it was a normal thing to do.
“Just for a bit,” he added.
I glanced toward his nanny again. She was watching now, but didn’t seem alarmed.
“Alright,” I said. “For a bit.”
He pulled the chair out and sat, much more carefully than most kids his age would.
“What’s your name?” I asked.
“Caleb.”
“That’s a nice name.”
“I know,” he said.
That time, I did smile.
“I’m Lila.”
He nodded like he’d expected that.
“You don’t come here often,” he said.
It wasn’t a question.
“No,” I replied. “This is actually my first time.”
“That makes sense.”
“Why?”
“I’ve never seen you before,” he said. “And I would remember.”
“That’s very confident of you.”
“I pay attention.”
I tilted my head slightly. “Clearly.”
He glanced around the café briefly, then back at me. “It’s quieter here than outside.”
“That’s why I picked it.”
“You don’t like noise?”
“Not unnecessary noise.”
He nodded like he understood exactly what I meant.
“Do you come here a lot?” I asked.
“Sometimes,” he said. “When my nanny brings me to the park.”
“So this is your break from the park?”
“Yes.”
“That’s smart.”
“I know.”
There was something oddly easy about talking to him.
“You don’t talk like most kids,” I said.
He frowned slightly. “How do most kids talk?”
“Louder,” I said. “With less thinking.”
“I think before I talk,” he replied. “My dad says it’s better that way.”
“That sounds like good advice.”
“He says a lot of things.”
“Do you listen?”
“Sometimes,” Caleb said honestly.
I laughed softly. “That’s fair.”
For a moment, we just sat there.
Then he asked, “Why are you here?”
The question was simple, but direct.
“I needed somewhere quiet,” I said.
He nodded slowly. “Me too.”
That… made sense.
Before I could say anything else, his nanny stepped into the café, walking toward us.
“Caleb,” she said gently, “it’s time to go.”
He looked at her, then back at me.
“I have to go now,” he said.
“I figured.”
He stood, pushing the chair back into place properly before stepping away.
“Bye, Lila.”
“Bye, Caleb.”
He paused for a second, like he was about to say something else, then didn’t. Just gave a small nod and walked back to his nanny.
I watched as they stepped out toward the park again, the noise from outside slipping back in as the door opened and closed.
It was such a small interruption. And unexpected.
But as I picked up my cup again, I realized something had shifted slightly.
The quiet I’d come for was still there.
It just didn’t feel as empty anymore.
- Writer
