In walked Elena. She wasn’t a stranger; she was the "Coffee at 9:00 AM" regular who always ordered a black roast and read poetry by the window. For months, their relationship had been built on comfortable silence and the occasional shared look over a particularly poignant verse.

The air in Julian’s small, overstuffed bookstore always smelled like vanilla and old paper—a scent that usually calmed him. But today, the bell over the door chimed with a frantic energy that matched his own nerves.

"Chicago. For the fellowship." She finally looked up, her eyes searching his. "I realized I couldn't leave without knowing if this—whatever this quiet thing we have is—was just in my head."

"It is," Julian agreed, stopping just a foot away from her. "But I think we’ve spent enough time being quiet. Maybe we should try being honest for a while, even if it’s over a phone call."

Elena let out a breath she seemed to have been holding for three months. "Chicago is a long way away."