Chapter 6 — COFFEE, NOTES, AND EYES THAT LISTEN
The rain had stopped for two whole days. In Elaris, that was a rare mercy — the streets shimmered beneath morning light, reflections trembling like fragments of glass.
On Maple Avenue, the air smelled of roasted coffee and rain-washed asphalt. Tiny cafés bloomed between art stores and bookstores, their windows misted with warmth. And at the far corner of the street stood The Golden Mug, a place Cathy had always loved for its quiet corners and the soft hum of piano music that played in the background.
She was there now, sitting by the window, sketchbook open. The scent of cinnamon and coffee lingered around her, familiar and grounding.
Then the door chimed — and the air seemed to shift.
She didn’t have to look up. Somehow, she knew it was him.
Adrian Rivers — or rather, Adrian Vale, though she didn’t yet know that name — walked in with the kind of quiet confidence that turned heads without meaning to. He spotted her immediately and smiled, that small, gentle smile that seemed made only for her.
“Hey,” he said softly, sliding into the seat across from her. “I was hoping you’d be here.”
Cathy smiled, her pen moving across her notepad.
You’re getting good at finding me.
He chuckled. “Maybe I just got lucky.”
She wrote again, eyes twinkling:
Maybe you’re stalking me.
Adrian laughed — the sound low, warm. “If I were, I’d be the most polite stalker in Elaris.”
That made her laugh silently, shoulders shaking. She signed quickly: Coffee?
He nodded. “Two. Sweet for you, black for me?”
Her brows lifted. She hadn’t told him her order.
He grinned. “You forget, I pay attention.”
When the coffees arrived, Adrian leaned forward, elbows resting lightly on the table. “You always carry that sketchbook,” he said, glancing at it. “Do you ever draw people besides me?”
Cathy thought for a moment, then wrote:
Sometimes. When I feel something about them.
He smiled. “And me?”
She hesitated, her pen pausing. Then she wrote carefully:
You make silence feel warm.
For a moment, he said nothing. His eyes softened — truly softened — in a way that made her heart stumble.
Then he said, quietly, “I didn’t know silence could be anything but empty… until I met you.”
They sat there for a long moment, just looking at each other. Around them, the café continued — soft chatter, clinking cups, the faintest music. But for Cathy, the world had gone perfectly still.
When conversation turned to paper notes again, she wrote a question:
Why architecture?
Adrian smiled faintly. “Because I like to build things that last. My father…” He stopped, voice faltering for a second. “He built empires, not homes. I guess I wanted something different.”
Cathy tilted her head. Homes are better, she signed.
He nodded, gaze distant. “Yeah. They’re quieter.”
There it was again — that quiet shadow in his eyes. Something she couldn’t name, but felt every time he looked away mid-sentence, as if haunted by a memory he couldn’t lay down.
She wanted to ask more, but her instincts told her not to. Some stories only unfold when they’re ready.
So instead, she reached across the table, pulled a napkin toward her, and drew a small bridge — two figures standing beneath it, facing opposite directions but connected by a thread of gold between them.
She pushed it toward him.
Adrian studied it, smiling faintly. “You think that’s us?”
Cathy nodded, eyes bright. Connected.
He looked at the napkin for a long time before folding it carefully and slipping it into his jacket pocket. “Then I’ll keep it,” he said. “For luck.”
After coffee, they walked along the river path near the Glass Bridge, where sunlight flickered across the water like spilled diamonds. Cathy’s hand brushed the cool metal railing as she walked beside him, close enough to feel his presence but not his touch.
Adrian slowed his steps to match hers, hands in his pockets. “You know,” he said softly, “I’ve met a lot of people in my life — in boardrooms, conferences, parties. But none of them ever made me want to listen this much.”
Cathy smiled, writing on her notepad as they paused by the bridge.
Maybe you were listening to the wrong noise.
He looked at her for a long time. “Maybe,” he whispered.
The wind stirred her hair, carrying the faint scent of lilies. Without thinking, he reached up, brushing a strand away from her face. His fingers hesitated in midair — unsure, careful.
But she didn’t pull away.
For a heartbeat, the world shrank to just that — a shared breath, a touch that spoke more than words could ever manage.
Then Cathy turned away, heart racing, cheeks warm. She pretended to sketch the skyline, though her hand trembled slightly.
Adrian smiled faintly beside her. He didn’t push. He didn’t need to.
When they finally parted, dusk was falling. Cathy waved goodbye at the bridge’s end, and Adrian watched her go — until her figure disappeared around the corner.
He exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair. “What are you doing to me, Cathy Duke?” he murmured under his breath.
For the first time in years, his heart wasn’t thinking about Vale Industries, or the empire waiting for him to reclaim it. It was thinking about a woman who never spoke — yet somehow said everything.
That night, Cathy sat at her small desk by the window, replaying every smile, every look, every word written between them. She opened her sketchbook to a fresh page and began to draw.
This time, she didn’t draw Adrian’s face. She drew his eyes — the way they softened when he listened. The way they looked at her as though she were something fragile but worth understanding.
When she was done, she wrote one sentence beneath it:
He listens like he’s learning a language only I can speak.
Outside, Elaris shimmered in moonlight. Inside, her world felt a little less silent.
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