Twenty-Six Doors

CHAPTER 7

“The beauty of things exists in the mind which contemplates them.” - David Hume

As they walked, Emil described everything he saw—the crooked little houses with ivy creeping up their walls, the corner shops with faded signs and warm window displays, the buildings that stood like old friends watching the street unfold. Alba listened closely, storing each detail like a treasure, weaving them into the tapestry of her imagination.

After a few blocks, they arrived at a small café—tucked between two brick buildings, with a chalkboard sign that read Best coffee in town, probably. Emil had stumbled upon it only recently, but it already felt like a place worth sharing.

“Top-notch coffee in here,” he said, pushing the door wide. “And loads of bits you’ll want to scoff.”

The scent of freshly brewed coffee wrapped around them like a welcome. Emil glanced at the table by the window, bathed in soft autumn light.

“How about we sit by the window? The sunlight’s perfect there, especially on a day like today.”

Alba nodded, grateful for his thoughtfulness.

“Guide me, please…”

Emil took her hand, gently, and led her to the table. He pulled out the chair, and she sat down, resting her cane against the windowsill. The sun touched her skin like a whisper, and for a moment, everything felt still.

A waitress approached, light on her feet, menus in

hand. She didn’t notice the cane. Emil, quick and quiet, intercepted the menu meant for Alba, his eyes flashing with quiet reproach. The waitress caught herself, bowed slightly in apology, and retreated.

“I’ll be back when you’re ready to order,” she said, her voice a little flustered.

“I’ll read you the options,” Emil offered, his voice soft but steady. “You can tell me what you fancy.”

Alba smiled, her heart warmed by his care.

As he read aloud, she listened intently, imagining the flavours, the textures, the aromas. She chose a latte and an apple tartlet. Emil went for a cappuccino and a toastie.

The café hummed around them—the clink of cups, the low murmur of conversation, the occasional hiss of steam. After a moment, Emil leaned forward.

“Did you sleep well?”

Alba paused, letting the sun soak into her skin, letting the question settle.

“Slept like a log, thanks. You?”

“Yep, all good. Normally takes me ages to nod off, but last night… I was out cold the second my head hit the pillow.”

“Am I really that dull?” she joked, grinning.

“Oi, shut up,” he said, grinning—then added in a

whisper, “I was buzzing for morning. Couldn’t wait to see you.”

He looked away, suddenly shy, and changed the subject.

“Got any plans for the rest of the day?”

Alba had caught the whisper, though he hadn’t meant her to. She smiled quietly, her heart echoing the sentiment.

“No, nothing specific… anything in mind?”

“Fancy a little wander?” he said, nursing his giant cappuccino. “There’s a park not far—pond, ducks, the odd busker if you’re lucky. Nothing too flash, but it’s got a nice vibe.”

Alba tilted her head, as if she could see the scene he was painting.

“That sounds lush,” she said with a grin. “I’m all about that vibe—nature, fresh air, even dodgy tunes. It’s got a charm to it.”

Emil watched her, quietly spellbound by the way she spoke. There was a kind of glow in her voice when she talked about the things she loved—like the world came alive through her words. It caught him off guard, that kind of warmth.

“Then it’s a plan,” he said, smiling.

Alba could feel it—the warmth in his voice, the sincerity.

Emil hesitated, fingers wrapped around his cup like it might steady him. “Um… after the park,” he said, voice low, “if you fancy it… we could head back to campus.” He glanced at her, then away. “I was thinking I could maybe play something for you. On the sax, I mean. If you’d want that.”

The thought of hearing Emil play filled her with a warmth that outshone the sun.

“Yeah, I’d love that,” she said, her voice lighting up. There was a flutter in her chest—part joy, part nerves—but mostly, she just felt giddy at the thought.

They finished their breakfast slowly, each lost in thought. Emil wondered if she’d enjoy the music as much as he’d enjoy playing it for her. Alba sat quietly, grateful—the creamy latte, the mellow sun, Emil just being lovely. And the apple tart? Bang on. Sweet, buttery, proper comfort food. She couldn’t help but smile.

She knew, without question, that this day would become one of those rare memories—the kind you tuck away and return to, again and again, when the world feels a little too quiet.