Chapter 5 The Weight of Mornings

Part 1 – What the City Knows

By now, even Rome had learned their rhythm.

Every morning, when the bells of Santa Maria chimed eight, the barista at Caffè Rosati would glance toward the door just before they appeared first Liam, notebook under one arm, and then Emma, a moment later, her stride quick and sure, as if the morning didn't truly begin until she saw him.

The café was always half full locals arguing over newspapers, students clutching pastries on their way to class yet somehow, it felt like the room belonged to them.

Their corner by the window had become a small ritual: two cups, one espresso, one cappuccino, a shared laugh, a conversation that always began the same way Good morning and then spun into everything and nothing.

Emma had started timing her walk so she would arrive just after Liam. She told herself it was convenience that she liked not waiting for her drink but deep down she knew it wasn't that simple.

There was something about the way his smile met hers, unhurried, as if he'd been saving it just for her.

That morning, the rain had just stopped, leaving the air cool and smelling faintly of oranges from the nearby market. She pushed open the door and spotted him immediately, seated with his espresso and sketchbook open, head bent over a drawing.

"You started without me," she said, setting down her bag.

He looked up, the corner of his mouth lifting. "I was afraid you'd changed cafés."

"Never," she said. "You think I'd abandon our... tradition?"

He liked the way she said our, casual but sincere, like it meant more than she intended.

He gestured to the chair across from him. "Then sit. The morning's waiting."

Part 2 – A Quiet Gravity

They sat as they always did cups between them, sunlight creeping across the marble tabletop, conversation unspooling softly.

Yet something was different today. The pauses felt charged, not awkward; their glances lingered a second longer.

Emma watched as Liam's hand moved over the page, lines forming into something architectural arches, windows, shadows.

"Is that another fountain?" she asked.

He shook his head. "No. It's the light through this window. The way it catches your-"

He stopped himself, smiling faintly. "The way it catches the table."

She laughed quietly. "Nice save."

He grinned. "Was it that obvious?"

"A little."

Her smile faded into something softer. "I like that you see the world that way," she said. "You notice things people miss."

He looked at her, really looked this time. "So do you."

Something in the air shifted then not dramatic, just real. A pulse beneath the noise of the café.

He turned a page, clearing his throat. "You ever think about what happens if we miss a morning?"

She blinked. "What do you mean?"

"If one of us doesn't show up," he said, trying to sound light. "Would it feel strange?"

Emma tilted her head, pretending to think. "I suppose it would," she admitted. "The barista might lose faith in love altogether."

He laughed, grateful for the humor, but there was an echo of something else in her voice something true.

She looked down at her cup, stirring what was left of the foam. "It's funny," she said quietly. "How fast something can start to feel necessary."

Liam didn't answer right away. He just nodded, eyes on her hands slender fingers, restless against the rim of her cup and felt something unfamiliar settle in his chest.

It wasn't love, not yet. But it was close enough to make him cautious.

When they finally left the café, the day had opened into perfect autumn light.

They walked part of the way together, not quite touching, their steps unconsciously in sync.

At the corner where their paths split, Emma hesitated. "See you tomorrow?"

Liam smiled the kind of smile that promised nothing and everything all at once. "Tomorrow," he said.

They parted, each turning back once without meaning to.

And somewhere above them, church bells began to ring a sound that felt, to both of them, like the heartbeat of something new.