KAYLA'S POV:
After closing time, everyone had left. The café was completely empty except for the two of us. The silence felt strange cold yet warm at the same time, like something important was about to happen. My heart kept pounding louder with every second that passed.
He walked toward the windows and pulled the curtains shut one by one, blocking the outside view. My breath hitched.
Is it… that private? Are we really doing this?
Oh God.
My mind started racing. I imagined his tongue intertwined with mine but then reality slapped me.
My fake braces.
What if they ruined everything? What if they turned him off? What if I accidentally bumped his lips with metal? Oh no. Oh no. Oh no.
Panicking internally, I quickly grabbed my lip gloss from my bag and applied it, hoping at least my lips would taste sweet enough to compensate. I snapped it shut and shoved it back inside before he noticed.
After finishing with the curtains, he walked toward me.
"Sit here."
"O-Okay… sure…"
I sat down, trying to look calm even though my stomach was doing Olympic gymnastics.
"Now wait here for a moment."
He disappeared into the old storage room at the back.
My brain immediately betrayed me.
What is he going to bring?
Protection?
Heat rushed to my face, and I looked away, trying to hide my growing blush.
A few seconds later, he returned.
I turned toward him,
…and froze.
A guitar.
I slowly raised an eyebrow.
Just… a guitar?
Oh. So he was being sweet and romantic first. Setting the mood. Making me comfortable before making his move.
Okay. That actually made sense.
Then he finally spoke.
"You said your singing is too bad. So now I'll give you lessons every night so you can perform better in the competition… and try not to embarrass yourself."
My brain short-circuited.
What?
He… didn't want to make out?
He wanted me to stay…
…for singing lessons?
Freaking singing lessons?!
For a moment, I just stared at him, my soul leaving my body. All that mental preparation. All that emotional damage. For 'this'?
I forced myself to compose my expression.
"Okay… thank you. Go ahead."
My voice sounded calm, polite even.
Meanwhile, inside?
I was screaming.
My face was burning red, not from shyness anymore, but from pure frustration and embarrassment.
He sat across from me, adjusting the guitar strings like nothing unusual had just happened.
"Relax your shoulders," he said casually. "You're too tense."
Of course I'm tense. I thought you were about to make out with me, you idiot.
I straightened slightly.
He strummed a chord. The sound filled the quiet café, soft and warm.
"Music isn't about having a perfect voice," he continued. "It's about feeling."
For a brief second, I forgot my annoyance.
Because when he talked about music…
His expression changed.
Gentler. More focused.
More real.