Chapter 4 A Crack In The Ice

Saturday arrived with a hush in the air-a stillness that made the world feel like it was holding its breath. For Lilan Reyes, the silence wasn't peace. It was anticipation. Hope. Terror.

She was up before dawn, her eyes puffy from lack of sleep but glowing with something else-determination. Maybe madness. She wore her plainest jeans and a black sweater, but added a single touch: a silver hair clip, shaped like a star. A tiny rebellion. A whisper of vanity. For him.

By 6:30 a.m., she was at the café. Alone. The windows fogged, the espresso machine humming like a creature waking. She moved with careful precision-scrubbing the milk steamer until it gleamed, wiping the counter with unnecessary repetition. She recited the order under her breath like a spell.

Triple ristretto. No sugar. Almond milk. 65 degrees.

But this time, she'd done something different.

Last night, after too much Googling and a long walk to the import shop across town, she'd bought a small bag of Ethiopian heirloom beans. Bright, floral, high-acid notes. Nothing dramatic-just a hint mixed into the base roast. A secret, a signature.

Her hands trembled as she brewed.

By 7:55, the cup was ready. Creamy foam, smooth as silk. Not a single bubble. She placed the lid carefully, aligning it with the cup seam. Her breath caught in her throat.

Please come. Please come.

At exactly 7:58, the bell above the café door jingled.

He entered.

But he wasn't alone.

Lilan's heart plummeted.

Beside Aidan Voss walked a girl-tall, poised, with platinum hair and a coat that probably cost more than Lilan's rent. She laughed as they walked in, her voice soft and syrupy, like she was used to being listened to.

Aidan wore black again. Always black. Sharp wool coat, sleeves pushed slightly up his wrists. Disheveled perfection. His eyes were on his phone, unreadable. Barely listening to the girl.

Lilan's body reacted before her mind caught up-straightening, smoothing her sweater, pushing a lock of hair behind her ear.

She didn't exist. Not to her. And definitely not to him.

But he walked straight to the counter.

Lilan forced a smile she couldn't feel. Her hand brushed the cup forward, fingertips trembling.

He reached for it-then paused.

He looked down at the lid.

Slowly, deliberately, he peeled it off.

Then, with no acknowledgment of anyone else in the café, he lifted the cup to his mouth and sipped. Not casually. Not distractedly. Deliberately. His jaw shifted slightly as he tasted.

Seconds passed.

Then his eyes rose. And locked with hers.

Lilan stopped breathing.

He tilted his head the tiniest bit. His expression didn't change. No smile. No frown.

Just one sentence.

"Did you change the roast?"

Lilan could barely speak. "Y-yeah. Just a little. I added a dash of Ethiopian blend. Bright profile. I-I thought maybe you'd... like it."

There was a silence that lasted far longer than it should have.

Then:

"Better."

He said it without warmth, but with precision. Like he meant it.

Lilan's heart slammed against her ribs.

She nodded too quickly, trying not to collapse where she stood.

He didn't say anything else. Just turned, coffee in hand.

The girl beside him raised an eyebrow. "You always this picky?"

He didn't answer her.

He walked toward the door.

The girl followed, clearly less amused now. Less... confident.

And Lilan?

She stood behind the counter, chest full of fire.

The café was a blur after that. Orders came and went. Customers smiled or grumbled. Lilan nodded, responded, operated the machine like a ghost.

But her mind was still trapped in that moment.

Did you change the roast?

Better.

He noticed. He tasted it. He asked about it.

Not because someone else told him to.

Because he noticed the difference. Noticed her.

That night, Lilan walked home in the rain, her coat clinging to her skin. She barely felt the cold.

She didn't stop at her apartment.

Instead, she walked past it and sat on the park bench across the street. There, under the dim glow of the lamplight, she pulled out her journal.

Her fingers were numb, but her thoughts were electric.

*"He tasted it. Not just drank it-tasted. Measured it. Said it was better.

I changed something and he noticed.

That girl with him-she wasn't important. He barely looked at her. But he asked me a question.

Maybe it meant nothing. Maybe it was polite.

But it didn't feel that way.

It felt like I cracked something open.

A hairline fracture in a stone wall."*

She closed the book and held it to her chest.

She didn't smile. Not fully.

But for the first time, she felt the weight of something shifting-slow, subtle, dangerous.

He wasn't just beautiful anymore.

He was real.

And reality was far more addictive than fantasy.