This story contains mature themes including emotional trauma, mental health struggles, and strong language. Reader discretion is advised

Chapter 12 (Kara's POV)

I keep checking my phone even though I told myself I wouldn’t. My palms are kind of sweaty, and I’ve already stirred my iced latte like ten times. The straw squeaks every time I move it. Embarrassing. 

Then I see him. 

Alfie walks in wearing a grey hoodie and jeans. Casual. Effortless. His hair’s slightly messy, like he just woke up, but it works on him. Of course it does. 

He spots me, smiles, and waves. 

“Hey,” he says, sliding into the seat across from me. “Didn’t think you’d actually show.” 

I raise an eyebrow. “Excuse me?” 

He laughs. “I mean—people drop out all the time. Wasn’t sure if you were just being polite last night.” 

I sip my drink. “Well, I’m very polite and I like coffee. So.” 

He grins. 

It’s easy. Easier than I expected. 
The nerves start to fade. 

We talk about uni — how everything feels too big, how our lectures make us question our entire intelligence levels. 

“I swear,” he says, “that lecturer started talking about some concept I’ve never heard of and suddenly everyone else was nodding like yeah, totally. I was just sitting there like... am I dumb?” 

“You’re not dumb,” I say. Then I add quickly, “I mean, you got into the same uni I did. So if you’re dumb, what does that make me?” 

He laughs again, and this time it’s softer. A little longer. “Honestly? You’re probably smarter than me. You always seemed chill in school, like you had your own world.” 

I blink. “That’s... not how I remember it.” 

“Well, that’s how I remember it.” 

There’s a pause. Not an awkward one.  His eyes linger just a second longer than usual. I feel it in my stomach. Like butterflies — but quieter. 

He leans back in his chair and says, “You still draw?” 

I shake my head. “Not as much. Haven’t had time. Or inspiration, really.” 

“You should,” he says. “You were always good at it.” 

I don’t know what to say to that. I look down at my drink, hiding the stupid grin forming on my face. 

His phone buzzes. He glances at it quickly, then turns it face down. 

“Everything okay?” I ask. 

“Yeah,” he says. But something about his tone feels off. “Just a mate asking about a group project.” 

Right. 

“Well, tell your mate you’re busy being charming over coffee.” 

He smirks. “You think I’m charming?” 

I pretend to roll my eyes. “Don’t let it go to your head.” 

“I won’t. But… thanks for meeting up. I wasn’t sure if things between us would be weird.” 

“They’re not,” I say, meaning it. “At least not yet.” 

He grins again. That soft grin. 

We sit in silence for a bit, the comfortable kind. 
And for once, I don’t overthink it.