Oryn didn't approach her that night.
Instead, he left.
The weight of the moment sat heavy in his chest as he stepped out into the cool evening air. The city hummed around him—car engines idling at a red light, distant music spilling from a nearby café, the faint laughter of passersby. Everything moved forward, unchanged, while he stood still, trapped in something that should have already been left behind.
He should have said something.
But what would he have even said?
Hey, remember that book you wrote in? The one I found? The one that led to months of letters exchanged in the margins?
It sounded ridiculous.
No—worse. It sounded like something out of a novel, and real life didn't work that way.
He had spent months wondering if she ever thought about those letters. If she had ever looked back, even once. But seeing her tonight, seeing the way she laughed, the way she fit so easily into this world—he wasn't so sure anymore.
She had moved on.
And maybe, that should have been his answer.
But instead of letting it go, he found himself taking a different path the next morning—one that led him back to a place he hadn't visited in months.
Café Amour.
The scent of roasted coffee beans greeted him as he stepped inside. The warmth of the space was unchanged, the familiar hum of conversation wrapping around him like a forgotten melody.
Noa stood behind the counter, raising an eyebrow as he approached. "Well, well. Look who finally crawled out of the abyss."
Oryn huffed a laugh. "Didn't realize I had a reputation to maintain."
"You disappear for months and expect me not to notice?" She leaned against the counter, studying him. "What brings you back?"
He hesitated.
The words sat heavy on his tongue, waiting to be spoken.
But instead of answering directly, he said, "Do people ever come back for unfinished conversations?"
Noa tilted her head slightly, considering him. "Depends."
"On?"
"Whether they think there's still something worth finishing."
Oryn exhaled, rubbing a hand over his face. "Right."
She studied him for a moment longer before grabbing a mug and filling it. "Here."
He blinked. "I didn't order anything."
"You look like you need it."
He took the coffee without argument, wrapping his hands around the warmth of the ceramic.
Noa leaned on the counter again. "You going to tell me what this is about, or am I supposed to guess?"
He considered lying. Brushing it off. But then, what was the point?
"I saw her last night."
Noa stilled.
It was subtle, but Oryn caught it—the brief flicker of understanding that crossed her expression before she masked it with something unreadable.
"She looked…" He hesitated. "Happy."
Noa didn't answer right away. Instead, she tapped her fingers against the countertop, as if weighing her next words carefully.
Then, finally—
"And that's a bad thing?"
Oryn let out a slow breath. "No. I just—" He stopped himself. Shook his head. "I don't know."
Because he didn't.
He didn't know what he wanted from this—if he even should want anything at all.
All he knew was that seeing her again had stirred something in him.
Something that refused to stay buried.
Oryn wasn't sure what he expected when he told Noa about Lana. Maybe indifference, maybe an eye roll. But Noa had simply stared at him for a long moment before setting down her coffee with an exasperated sigh.
"So let me get this straight," she began, crossing her arms. "You spent months moping over a girl you never met—only to meet her now, professionally, and you're just… what? Planning to let fate handle it again?"
Noa narrowed her eyes. "You're a writer, Oryn. You spend your entire life constructing narratives, but when it comes to your own, you refuse to pick up the pen."
Oryn exhaled sharply. "It's not that simple."
"It's exactly that simple." Noa leaned forward. "Do you even hear yourself? You finally have a chance to know her for real. No more letters. No more what-ifs. And you're hesitating."
Oryn ran a hand through his hair, unsure how to explain the tangle of emotions knotted inside him. "She doesn't know it's me."
Noa scoffed. "And whose fault is that?"
He opened his mouth, then shut it.
"Look," she continued, her voice softer now, "I don't know why you're making this complicated, but if you're waiting for some perfect moment, it won't come. Just talk to her. You don't have to drop some grand revelation. Just… be there."
Oryn hesitated. Then, narrowing his eyes slightly, he asked, "How do you even know I'm a writer?"
Noa blinked. Then she smirked. "Lana."
His chest tightened. "She talked about me?"
"Not you, specifically." Noa tilted her head. "But she mentioned a writer. Someone whose words she found in the margins of a book. She never told me much, but I could tell it meant something to her."
Oryn's fingers curled around his cup. His heartbeat was steady, but something about this knowledge made it feel louder.
She had talked about him. Not knowing who he was, not even knowing if he was real in the way that mattered. And yet, it had meant something.
Noa sighed. "Look, I don't know the whole story, and honestly, I don't need to. But I know Lana. And if she's still thinking about that writer after all this time…" She let the words hang between them before shaking her head. "Just don't overthink it, okay?"
Oryn let out a quiet breath. Maybe she was right. Maybe he was making this more complicated than it needed to be.
Still, he couldn't shake the feeling that some stories weren't meant to be rushed.