AGAPE

CHAPTER 2

The coffee shop smelled like old wood and fresh rain.

This was Hope's favourite place in the world — quiet, calm, relaxing. She sat in the corner, laptop open, fingers moving across the keyboard. Freshly squeezed orange juice and a blueberry muffin sat beside her, untouched for the last hour. She felt like today was going to be her day.

The door chimed as customers came and went. The couple who owned the shop had been busy since morning. It was 2pm now. Almost time for Hope to head home before her siblings finished school by 3pm.

Then the door chimed again.

Hope didn't look up. She'd heard that sound all day.

"Daviddddddddd!"

She froze.

Her fingers stopped mid-keystroke. Her breath caught somewhere in her chest. Well, there were many Davids in a small town. But only one could make someone shout like that.

She kept her eyes on the screen. Pretended to read the same line of code for the fifth time. Pretended her heart wasn't pounding so hard she could feel it in her throat.

David didn't sit with the person who called his name.

He sat alone. Two tables away.

Hope stole a glance. Just one. Quick. She told herself it would be quick.

He pulled out his phone, scrolled for a moment, then sighed — a long, tired sound — and ran a hand through his hair before setting the phone face-down on the table. Like he was deciding to ignore whatever he'd just seen. Like he was choosing peace.

She liked that. She hadn't expected to notice something like that.

The shop owner, a kind woman with grey-streaked braids, appeared at Hope's table. "You okay, love? You've been staring at that screen for a while."

Hope opened her mouth to answer —

And David looked up.

Not at anyone in particular. Just up. Stretching his neck after looking down at his phone. His eyes moved across the room. Unfocused. Distracted.

Then they landed on her.

For one second. Maybe two.

Long enough for Hope to forget how words worked.

She didn't look away first. She couldn't. She just sat there, mouth slightly open, fingers still frozen above the keyboard, while the shop owner waited for an answer she'd already stopped hearing.

David tilted his head. Just slightly. Like he was trying to place her. Like she was a song he'd heard once and couldn't quite remember.

Then he looked back down at his phone.

The shop owner chuckled softly. "I'll take that as a no." She walked away.

Hope exhaled. She hadn't realized she'd been holding her breath.

She gathered her things slowly. Too slowly. Her fingers fumbled with the charger cord. The muffin wrapper crinkled too loud. She stuffed everything into her bag, stood up, and nearly knocked over her orange juice.

Get it together, she told herself. He didn't even—

"Excuse me."

His voice.

Hope turned.

David was standing by the door, holding it open. Not for her — not specifically — but she was the only one leaving. He waited. Patient. One hand on the door, the other holding his phone against his chest.

"Oh," she said. "Thanks."

"Yeah."

She walked past him. The door closed behind her. The evening air hit her face.

And then she heard the door open again.

He was right behind her. Walking the same direction. Not trying to catch up. Not trying to slow down. Just... walking.

She risked another glance. He was looking straight ahead now, jaw tight, phone pressed to his ear.

"—I said I'm not doing that anymore. Figure it out yourself."

His voice was low. Sharp. Different from the quiet "yeah" he'd given her a second ago.

He hung up without waiting for a response. Shoved the phone into his pocket. Rubbed his forehead with his free hand.

Then he noticed her looking.

This time, he didn't look away first.

"What?" he said. Not mean. Just tired.

Hope's stomach dropped. "Nothing. Sorry. I just—"

"You go to those shows."

It wasn't a question.

She blinked. "What?"

"The gigs. At The Lantern. You're always in the back. Watching."

He knew.

He knew.

Hope's face went hot. "I— yeah. Sometimes. The music is good."

David studied her for a moment. Then the corner of his mouth twitched. Not quite a smile. Something smaller. Something private.

"The music," he repeated. Like he didn't believe her.

Then he kept walking.

Hope stood frozen on the sidewalk, watching him disappear around the corner. Her heart was everywhere — in her throat, in her fingertips, in the soles of her feet.

He knew her face.

He'd noticed her watching.

And he'd called her out on it without being cruel.

She walked home in a daze. The orange juice sloshed forgotten in her bag. The muffin would be crumbs by morning. None of it mattered.

Because when she closed her eyes, she didn't see him on stage anymore.

She saw him sighing at his phone, choosing peace. Holding the door like it was nothing. Looking at her like she was a song he was trying to remember.

And she saw him walk away — without asking her name.

She stopped at her front door, hand on the knob, and made a quiet promise to herself:

The next time, she wouldn't let him leave without knowing hers.

---

She pushed open the door. The apartment was quiet. Too quiet.

Victory was in the corner, phone glow lighting her face, thumbs moving faster than Hope could track. She didn't look up.

King was sprawled on the couch, one shoe still on, the other lost somewhere between the front door and his dreams. His mouth was slightly open. A tiny pool of drool on the cushion.

Hope smiled despite herself.

She walked to the kitchen. The faucet dripped. She turned the handle. The drip slowed but didn't stop. Just like always.

She leaned against the counter, closed her eyes, and replayed the moment.

"You go to those shows."

"You're always in the back. Watching."

He'd noticed her. Not just in passing. He'd noticed her.

She pulled out her phone. Opened the video platform. Found the latest video of David playing at The Lantern.

She watched him smile at someone off-stage. Watched his fingers move across the keys. Watched the way he closed his eyes when the music swelled.

He looked like a boy who'd found peace in sound.

And he'd looked at her like she was part of that peace.

She closed her eyes again. This time, she didn't see the music.

She saw him. The way he'd tilted his head. The way he'd said her name without knowing it.

Like she was already someone worth remembering.

---

Victory's voice broke through her thoughts. "Are you going to stand there all night, or are you going to tell me what happened?"

Hope opened her eyes. "Nothing happened."

"You're smiling."

"I'm not."

"You are. You're doing that thing where you smile but pretend you're not." Victory set down her phone. "Spill."

"I saw him."

"Him who?"

"David."

Victory's eyebrows shot up. "The keyboardist? The one you've been watching for eight months?"

"Yes."

"Did you talk to him?"

"Sort of."

"Sort of? What does sort of mean?"

Hope sat down on the couch beside King, careful not to wake him. "He held the door for me. And he said he's seen me at his shows. He said I'm always in the back. Watching."

Victory was quiet for a moment. Then she said, "So he knows you exist."

"Yes."

"And you didn't tell him your name?"

"No."

"Why not?"

Because telling him her name would make it real. Because walking up to him and saying "I'm Hope" would mean admitting she'd been watching him for months. Because she was terrified that if he knew her name, he'd realize she wasn't worth remembering.

"I don't know," she said. "I just couldn't."

Victory studied her. "You like him."

"I don't—"

"You like him. You really like him."

Hope didn't answer.

Because Victory was right.

She did like him.

She'd liked him for eight months. She'd liked him from the first time she saw him play, from the first time she heard his music fill a room and make her feel less alone. She'd liked him when he was just a face on a screen. And now that he was real? Now that he'd held a door open for her and looked at her like she mattered?

She liked him even more.

And that terrified her.

"What if he's not who I think he is?" she asked quietly.

"What do you mean?"

"What if he's... I don't know. What if he's not good?"

Victory laughed. "Hope, you've been watching him for eight months. You know him better than most people in this town."

"I know his music. That's not the same thing."

"Then get to know him."

"It's not that simple."

"Why not?"

Because nothing in her life was simple. Because she had three siblings to raise, a job to keep, a life to hold together. Because she didn't have time to fall in love with a musician who might not even want her.

"Just promise me something," Hope said.

"What?"

"If I go to his show. If I talk to him. And if something happens—"

"Nothing's going to happen."

"You don't know that."

Victory reached over and squeezed her hand. "I know you. And I know you're the bravest person I've ever met. If anyone can handle whatever comes next, it's you."

Hope smiled. A real smile.

"When did you get so wise?"

"I learned from the best."

She pulled her sister into a hug. King stirred on the couch, mumbled something about his shoe, and fell back asleep.

The apartment was quiet again. The fan whirred. The faucet dripped.

And Hope made a decision.

She was going to see him again.

Not from the back of the room.

She was going to walk up to him, look him in the eye, and tell him her name.

Because she'd promised herself.

And she always kept her promises.