Unwritten Stars episode 3
486 Words
Chapter Three
The Taste of Unfinished Stories
The hiss of steaming milk filled the silence between them as Clara focused on making Ethan’s latte. Her hands moved on instinct—grinding, tamping, pouring—anything to keep herself from looking at him for too long.
But she could feel his eyes on her. Watching. Studying.
The same way he used to.
“So,” Ethan finally said, leaning against the counter. “You own a bookshop café. That’s… fitting.”
Clara smirked without looking up. “Why? Because I used to spend more time in libraries than anywhere else?”
“Because you always loved stories,” he said, his voice softer now. “But you never let anyone read yours.”
Her hands faltered for just a second, but she covered it up by reaching for a cup. “People change.”
“Do they?”
She placed the finished latte in front of him, the foam forming a simple heart. She hadn’t meant to do that—it was just muscle memory from years of making drinks. But Ethan noticed. His lips twitched as he looked at it.
“Nice touch,” he murmured.
Clara crossed her arms. “Don’t read into it.”
He chuckled, picking up the cup and taking a slow sip. His eyes closed briefly, as if savoring the taste. “Okay, I’ll admit—this is better than the lattes you used to make.”
Clara rolled her eyes. “Told you I improved.”
Ethan set the cup down and leaned in slightly. “And your writing? Did that improve too?”
Her heart lurched.
She had spent years avoiding that question. Avoiding the truth.
Because no, it hadn’t improved. It hadn’t even continued.
She hadn’t written a single story since the one she had started ten years ago. The one Ethan had once encouraged her to finish.
And he didn’t know that he was the reason she never did.
Clara forced a smile. “I run a bookstore. I read stories now—I don’t write them.”
Ethan studied her for a long moment, as if trying to piece something together. Then he reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a small, worn notebook. He set it on the counter between them.
“I still have yours,” he said.
Clara’s breath caught. She didn’t need to open it to know what it was.
Her old manuscript. The one she had abandoned.
The one she had given to him before everything fell apart.
She swallowed hard. “You kept it?”
Ethan nodded. “Some stories deserve an ending, Clara.”
Her fingers twitched at her sides. She should have walked away. Should have told him she didn’t care anymore.
But as she stared at that familiar notebook—at the faded ink of her own words—she realized something terrifying.
She still did.
- Writer
