Asher POV
The café door chimed softly when Asher stepped inside, a familiar sound he'd heard a hundred times—but today, it echoed differently. Sharper. Expectant. Like the universe itself was holding its breath.
There had been no date specified, no hour carved into stone, but the way she'd smiled, the softness in her eyes… he had been sure she understood he meant today.
Maybe I assumed too much, he thought as he sat down.
But he couldn't imagine her forgetting. Lila didn't strike him as the type to overlook something she cared about. If anything, she seemed almost… hyper-aware. Her quietness wasn't aloofness; it was observation. Precision.
He ordered a drink mainly to justify staying. A cappuccino he kept forgetting to actually drink. Every time the door opened, his head lifted instinctively. Every time someone walked in with long dark hair, his pulse jumped.
And every time it wasn't her, something inside him tightened.
"Maybe she's just running late," he muttered beneath his breath, fingers tapping the edge of his cup. Then lower, almost embarrassed by his own anxiousness
He tried to ignore the way worry threaded through him. Tried to convince himself that Lila had simply lost track of time.
But the minutes kept sliding past.
First fifteen.
Then twenty.
Then forty.
And with each passing minute, more scenarios crawled into his mind.
Was she overwhelmed?
Did he push too fast?
Or—worse—had she panicked and bolted from the idea of seeing him again?
He wasn't used to this—to not knowing. To feeling unsteady like this.
Most girls he'd gone out with were predictable. Eager, transparent. They liked his confidence, his looks, the easy charm he'd learned to wear like armor. They weren't puzzles.
But Lila… Lila was a locked door with a heartbeat behind it.
And something about that shook him.
Something about her made him want to knock softly and wait as long as it took.
But she wasn't here.
A server approached. "Sir? You've been here awhile… would you like anything else?"
"No."
Then softer: "Not yet."
The server nodded politely and walked away, but Asher could feel the eyes on him—people noticing the guy who kept checking his phone even though he had no number to check. The guy who kept watching the entrance like someone waiting on a promise.
He raked a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply.
She wouldn't just blow me off… right?
He replayed their last conversation in his head.
The way she'd leaned into him ever so slightly when they conversed over the share table.
The way her eyes had glowed—yes, glowed—when he'd said he wanted to see her again.
But beneath that softness… he remembered something else now.
A shadow.
He'd brushed it off then. He shouldn't have.
Maybe something had happened.
Maybe she wasn't okay.
His chest tightened sharply at the thought.
He pictured her walking alone, fragile and tired, backpack tugging on her shoulder, hair swept into that loose knot she always wore when she was in a hurry. He pictured her frowning at her shoes as she walked—something she did when she was lost in thought.
And he pictured something going wrong.
"Don't do this," he muttered under his breath. "Don't catastrophize."
But he couldn't help it.
She mattered. Already. Ridiculously.
He checked the time again.
An hour.
She had been gone an hour.
He stood abruptly, unable to sit anymore.
The café had grown louder around him—plates clinking, chatter rising, music humming—but he felt strangely disconnected from it all. As if sound didn't quite reach him right.
He paced to the window, looking out at the street. People walked by in pairs, in groups, laughing, talking, living their easy lives.
But no Lila.
He forced himself to sit again, but the chair felt uncomfortable now, wrong. The space across the table—empty—felt like an accusation.
He tried logic.
Maybe she overslept.
Maybe she got caught up somewhere.
Maybe something came up.
But every reasonable explanation crumbled beneath one overwhelming truth:
If she decided she didn't want to see him… he had no way of knowing.
And no way of reaching her.
He despised the helplessness of that.
He leaned forward, elbows on the table, hands clasped tightly. His breath was slow, controlled, but underneath it was a storm he couldn't get ahead of.
"Just show up… please" he whispered into the empty space.
He stayed another thirty minutes.
And then another fifteen.
By the time he finally stood, the sun had shifted in the sky, and his coffee had long gone cold. His chest felt hollow. Heavy. Like he'd spent all this time hoping for someone who wasn't coming.
As he stepped out of the café, one final thought gnawed at him:
Is she okay?
Or—
Did she run from me?
Neither answer felt good.
But one felt worse.
He walked slowly down the street, his hands shoved into his pockets, every step feeling heavier than the one before. He tried to tell himself he'd forget about this—about her. That he'd move on like he always did.
But the lie tasted bitter the moment it formed.
He couldn't forget the girl who made the world feel strangely quiet around her.
The girl who looked at him like she was afraid the moment would break.
The girl who smelled faintly of vanilla and something sadder—something deeper.
The girl who made him feel like he was remembering something instead of discovering it.
He couldn't forget her if he tried.
Asher stopped walking.
He looked back toward the café.
Then toward the street she usually walked down.
Then toward the sky, as if it could offer answers.
"And now I have no way of knowing what happened to her," he whispered.
No phone number.
No address.
No last name.
She had slipped into his life like smoke… and now she was gone the same way.
He raked a hand through his hair again and exhaled, long and sharp.
"This is ridiculous," he muttered. "I shouldn't feel this—"
He cut himself off.
Because he felt it anyway.
A pull.
A worry.
A want that scared him more than he'd ever admit out loud.
As he headed to the office, one thought looped endlessly in his mind:
Where are you, Lila?