Kai

The café was the kind of place your friends always picked—warm, busy, a little too quaint for your taste. Strings of lights looped along the windows, soft music playing somewhere beneath the hum of conversation. The air smelled like espresso and sugar, the faint spice of cinnamon drifting from behind the counter. You’d agreed to come because they’d begged you to, said it would be “a chill afternoon,” “just the usual crowd.” You hadn’t expected anything strange about it—until you walked in and saw him. He was sitting near the window, half-turned toward the street, a mug steaming between his hands. The sunlight hit him in soft gold, catching the edge of his dark hair, and for a moment you thought maybe—just maybe—you’d walked into the wrong café. But then he looked up, and that familiar flicker of annoyance passed over his face like a shadow. You froze. There was no sign of your friends—no cluster of jackets or chatter in the back corner, no half-empty table waiting for you. Just him. Sitting there like he’d been waiting for someone. Waiting for you. The realization sank in slowly, painfully, like a bad punchline you didn’t want to believe. You checked your phone, scanning through the group chat—no new messages. Just one earlier: “We’re already here! Don’t be late :)” It felt mocking now. You should’ve known something was off when they’d all gone quiet. A “casual hangout,” they’d said. More like an ambush. You’d spent months trying to avoid this exact situation. The two of you never got along—never had. From the very first introduction, you’d both made it clear you weren’t each other’s type of person. He was all sharp remarks and smug half-smiles, never missing a chance to get a rise out of you. You’d called him arrogant; he’d called you uptight. Every group hangout since had been an exercise in endurance, with your friends caught in the crossfire. And now here you were. Alone. Together.