Isaac entered his tiny apartment and closed the door with his back, sliding down until he hit the floor. The sound of the rain outside seemed muffled by the deafening thud inside his own chest.
He tried to convince himself that this tachycardia was just post-traumatic stress, the conditioned reflex of seeing a "predator" approaching a prey. He tried to tell himself that his concern for Sasha was purely altruistic
—the moral obligation to prevent someone else from suffering what he had suffered.
But when he closed his eyes, he didn't see the face of his ex-girlfriend screaming lies. He saw Sasha.
He saw the way she bit her lower lip when she was focused, reading sheet music at the counter. He saw how her eyes closed briefly when she caught the scent of freshly brewed coffee. He remembered the accidental touch of her fingers against his when she took her change
—an electric spark he had pretended to ignore at the time, but which now burned his skin.
Isaac pressed his hand to his chest, feeling his heart hammer against his ribs, not out of fear, but out of desire. Out of longing.
— No...
— he whispered to the empty room, pulling at his wet hair.
— Please, no.
He was falling in love.
The realization was more terrifying than any police accusation. Loving meant lowering his guard. Loving meant handing someone the power to destroy him all over again. But for the first time in five years, the image of Sasha brought a warm light to the cold darkness in which he lived. He didn't just want to save her from Scott; he wanted to be there to see her smile when she managed to sing the perfect note. He wanted to be the reason for that smile.
The fear was still there, but now it had a new companion: hope. And that made everything much more dangerous. If Scott hurt her, it wouldn't just be an injustice. It would be personal.
The Other Side of Town: Scott's Penthouse
On the other side of the city, where the rain didn't form muddy puddles but slid elegantly down panoramic double-glazed windows, Scott Vane poured himself a shot of whiskey that cost more than Isaac's rent.
The apartment was vast, minimalist, and cold. Everything there screamed old money and imposed taste. Scott walked to the living room mirror, adjusting the collar of his silk shirt. He didn't see a monster in his reflection. He saw a man who desperately needed to get it right.
His phone vibrated on the marble table. A message from his father: "The gala dinner is on Saturday. I hope you have something concrete to show the investors, or I suggest you move back to the family firm and stop playing producer."
Scott felt his jaw tighten. He grew up in this world: charity dinners, prep schools, parents who saw him not as a son, but as an extension of their own egos. "The Vanes do not fail," his mother used to say whenever he got a grade lower than the maximum. He learned that people weren't exactly people; they were reflections of his success or failure. Love was conditional. Value was something earned through results.
He picked up the tablet and opened the photo he had discreetly taken of Sasha at the coffee shop.
Scott didn't want to abuse her. The idea repulsed him. What he wanted was to possess her success. He looked at Sasha and didn't see a victim; he saw a diamond in the rough that, if polished correctly, would shut his father's mouth.
— She has the look... the innocence the market loves
— Scott murmured, analyzing the photo like an architect analyzing a blueprint.
— If I change her wardrobe, correct her posture, and make her sing the right songs... she will be my masterpiece.
To Scott, Sasha was a project. He truly believed he was doing her a favor. Who wouldn't want to be famous? he thought. I will give her the world.
He didn't realize his "help" was toxic. He didn't understand that projecting his frustrated ambitions and narcissistic perfectionism onto a sensitive girl could crush her. Scott wasn't evil by nature, but he was blinded by his own need for validation. He would treat Sasha like a trophy to be polished, ignoring that trophies don't have feelings, don't get tired, and don't bleed.
He took a sip of the whiskey, feeling like the hero of his own story.
— I'm going to make you a star, Sasha
— he said to the photo, with a confident, empty smile.
— And finally, they'll have to applaud me.
The Coffee That Went Cold
A few days later
The room was dark, even though it was almost noon.
The curtains remained closed, as if the world outside were too noisy to be faced. Sasha sat on the bed, hugging her knees, her phone turned off next to her pillow. There were notifications to read—but only from Stella, her only friend.
And that hurt, because she wanted to have the contacts of the others from the coffee shop. She wanted to talk. She wanted to not feel so isolated.
The coffee shop wouldn't leave her head.
The distant sound of the espresso machines.
The smell of hot coffee.
And Isaac, behind the counter, with that calm smile that always seemed to hide something sad.
Did he think I ran away from him?
Did he think I was crazy?
Sasha squeezed the fabric of her sweatshirt.
She wanted to explain.
She wanted to say it wasn't his fault.
That the fear had no name, but it had a face
—and it wasn't Isaac's.
But she had no way to.
She didn't have his number.
She didn't have the courage to go back.
The simple idea of crossing that glass door made her stomach churn. Scott's gaze rose in her memory like a spotlight that was too strong, revealing things she never wanted to show.
— Idiot...
— she murmured to herself, brushing her hand over her face.
— Coward.
She got up and walked to the bass guitar leaning against the wall. She sat on the floor and began to play, without an amplifier, without a set rhythm. The notes came out low, broken, as if they were afraid to exist.
That was how she felt.
Worried about someone who perhaps wasn't even thinking about her.
Afraid of losing a place where, for the first time, she had felt... safe.
The Coffee Shop
— Rainy Afternoon
Isaac was drying the same glass for the third time.
— Man
— said David, leaning on the counter
—, if you keep cleaning that, you're going to rub the glass away.
Isaac gave a half-smile.
— Just a habit.
A lie.
He was looking at the door.
Always at the door.
Every time the bell rang, something inside him braced itself
—and was frustrated immediately after. It wasn't her. It was never her.
— Sasha?
— asked Valentina, appearing behind the counter with her arms crossed.
Isaac nodded.
— She didn't come back today.
— Nor last night
— added Afonso, without taking his eyes off his laptop.
— Anxious people often avoid places associated with social triggers.
Isaac swallowed hard.
Triggers.
He knew that word well.
— I should have walked her home...
— he murmured, more to himself than to the others.
— And say what?
— questioned Valentina, her voice softer.
— Sometimes, the best we can do is give space.
Isaac nodded, but he didn't seem convinced.
Because space also meant distance.
And distance, for him, always ended in abandonment.
Sasha's Room
— Night
The stream was open.
Lani's avatar smiled on the screen
—bright, confident. In the chat, fans commented, praised the new song, asked for more.
Sasha responded mechanically.
On the inside, she was somewhere else.
Between songs, her eyes drifted to the corner of the screen
—as if she expected to see the reflection of a coffee shop that wasn't there. As if Isaac could, in some impossible way, cross the barrier between the real and virtual worlds.
— This next song...
— she said, her voice low
— I wrote it yesterday.
The chords began slowly, heavy with emotion.
— It's about running away when someone tries to get close.
— About wanting to go back... but not being able to.
On the other side of the city, Isaac was closing the coffee shop.
The rain began to fall again.
He stopped in front of the glass door, observing his own distorted reflection. For an instant, he imagined Sasha sitting in the back, biting her lip while listening to music through her headphones.
But the coffee shop was empty.
He took a deep breath and turned out the lights.
Two hearts trapped in the same silence.
Neither of them knowing how to take the next step.
The Coffee That Went Cold
A few days later
The room was dark, even though it was almost noon.
The curtains remained closed, as if the world outside were too noisy to be faced. Sasha sat on the bed, hugging her knees, her phone turned off next to her pillow. There were notifications to read—but only from Stella, her only friend.
And that hurt, because she wanted to have the contacts of the others from the coffee shop. She wanted to talk. She wanted to not feel so isolated.
The coffee shop wouldn't leave her head.
The distant sound of the espresso machines.
The smell of hot coffee.
And Isaac, behind the counter, with that calm smile that always seemed to hide something sad.
Did he think I ran away from him?
Did he think I was crazy?
Sasha squeezed the fabric of her sweatshirt.
She wanted to explain.
She wanted to say it wasn't his fault.
That the fear had no name, but it had a face
—and it wasn't Isaac's.
But she had no way to.
She didn't have his number.
She didn't have the courage to go back.
The simple idea of crossing that glass door made her stomach churn. Scott's gaze rose in her memory like a spotlight that was too strong, revealing things she never wanted to show.
— Idiot...
— she murmured to herself, brushing her hand over her face.
— Coward.
She got up and walked to the bass guitar leaning against the wall. She sat on the floor and began to play, without an amplifier, without a set rhythm. The notes came out low, broken, as if they were afraid to exist.
That was how she felt.
Worried about someone who perhaps wasn't even thinking about her.
Afraid of losing a place where, for the first time, she had felt... safe.
The Coffee Shop
— Rainy Afternoon
Isaac was drying the same glass for the third time.
— Man
— said David, leaning on the counter
—, if you keep cleaning that, you're going to rub the glass away.
Isaac gave a half-smile.
— Just a habit.
A lie.
He was looking at the door.
Always at the door.
Every time the bell rang, something inside him braced itself
—and was frustrated immediately after. It wasn't her. It was never her.
— Sasha?
— asked Valentina, appearing behind the counter with her arms crossed.
Isaac nodded.
— She didn't come back today.
— Nor last night
— added Afonso, without taking his eyes off his laptop.
— Anxious people often avoid places associated with social triggers.
Isaac swallowed hard.
Triggers.
He knew that word well.
— I should have walked her home...
— he murmured, more to himself than to the others.
— And say what?
— questioned Valentina, her voice softer.
— Sometimes, the best we can do is give space.
Isaac nodded, but he didn't seem convinced.
Because space also meant distance.
And distance, for him, always ended in abandonment.
Sasha's Room
— Night
The stream was open.
Lani's avatar smiled on the screen
—bright, confident. In the chat, fans commented, praised the new song, asked for more.
Sasha responded mechanically.
On the inside, she was somewhere else.
Between songs, her eyes drifted to the corner of the screen
—as if she expected to see the reflection of a coffee shop that wasn't there. As if Isaac could, in some impossible way, cross the barrier between the real and virtual worlds.
— This next song...
— she said, her voice low
— I wrote it yesterday.
The chords began slowly, heavy with emotion.
— It's about running away when someone tries to get close.
— About wanting to go back... but not being able to.
On the other side of the city, Isaac was closing the coffee shop.
The rain began to fall again.
He stopped in front of the glass door, observing his own distorted reflection. For an instant, he imagined Sasha sitting in the back, biting her lip while listening to music through her headphones.
But the coffee shop was empty.
He took a deep breath and turned out the lights.
Two hearts trapped in the same silence.
Neither of them knowing how to take the next step.
Accidental Encounters
The coffee shop's day off was the only moment when time seemed to run differently for that group. Valentina took the opportunity to sleep in late and then headed out for drinks with long-time friends, trying to forget that the café depended on her. David spent the day binge-watching K-dramas and eating ramen, crying secretly over the romances he loved so much. Afonso, as expected, locked himself in his room for a 24-hour online RPG marathon, where he was the leader of a guild.
The Encounter in the Park
Isaac was walking through the central park, hands in his coat pockets and his hood pulled up to protect himself from the cold wind. He carried an old sketchbook, but he hadn't managed to doodle a single line. His mind kept returning obsessively to the scene of Sasha running away and to Scott's words about his own "bubble of lies."
He sat down on an isolated bench near a koi pond when a shadow fell over him.
— The coffee shop hero looks a bit lost today.
Isaac looked up. It was Stella. She was wearing a leather jacket and carrying a portfolio. She didn't have her usual tough expression; she just looked... tired.
— Stella
— Isaac said.
— Day off?
— Trying to breathe some air
— she replied, sitting down beside him without asking permission.
— And you? Trying to keep that smile up even when there are no customers around to fool?
Isaac felt the blow. He closed the sketchbook.
— You're a bit too direct, you know that?
— Someone has to be.
— Stella looked at the pond.
— Sasha hasn't left her room in days, Isaac. She's in a state of paralysis I haven't seen since high school.
Isaac felt a tightening in his chest.
— I wanted to apologize. I feel like if I hadn't confronted that guy, maybe she wouldn't have panicked like that.
Stella gave a short, dry laugh.
— Don't think you're that important, Isaac. Her panic wasn't because of you. It was because of what that Scott guy represents. He's the kind of person she's spent her life trying to avoid. But...
— she turned to him, her eyes analytical
— what worries me is you.
The Mirror of Truth
— Me? I'm fine
— Isaac lied automatically.
— Liar
— Stella countered.
— I saw how you looked at that card. And I saw how you reacted when he talked about your smile. I draw people, Isaac. I spend hours studying expressions. Your smile is anatomically perfect, but it's dead. It's a plaster mask.
Isaac looked away, feeling exposed. Stella continued:
— Sasha is far too transparent; she hides behind hoods and headphones. But you... you hide right in front of everyone. What happened to you, Isaac? Why are you so afraid to let anyone see who is behind that counter?
Isaac pressed the notebook against his chest. Memories of his ex-girlfriend, the courtroom, the cancellation, and the loneliness screamed in his mind.
— Some people don't deserve to be seen, Stella. Some stories only serve to hurt whoever hears them.
— Or maybe you're just afraid that if someone really gets to know you, they might hurt you again. — Stella stood up, adjusting her portfolio.
— Listen, I don't know what you're hiding, but Sasha trusts you. In her own strange way, you're the only person in that café she feels "understands" the silence. Don't ruin that by being a coward.
The Gesture of Courage
Stella started to walk away, but stopped and turned back. She took a pen and a scrap of paper from her portfolio and wrote something quickly.
— Here.
— She handed the paper to Isaac. It was an address and a phone number. — It's her address. She won't answer the phone if you call, and she probably won't open the door if you knock. But she needs to know that the real world isn't just made of people like Scott.
Isaac looked at the paper. It was a massive weight.
— Why are you giving me this? You're her protector.
— Because I can't reach her where she is right now
— Stella said, with genuine sadness in her voice.
— But maybe you can. After all, you both seem to be locked in the same kind of dark basement.
Stella left, leaving Isaac alone with the sound of the koi and the weight of a choice.