The man before me straightened, tall and sharply built, his presence entirely at odds with the warmth of the café. The fine fabric of his coat bore a spreading stain, deep and uneven, blooming across the surface in quiet ruin. He looked down at it, then at me, his expression turning to stone.
“For fuck’s sake,” he muttered, voice low and precise, each word edged with restrained fury.
I froze.
It wasn’t only what he said, it was how he said it. His tone carried no surprise, no irritation even, only a detached sort of contempt that stripped the apology from my tongue. To him, I wasn’t a person who had made a mistake. I was an inconvenience, a disruption that barely warranted acknowledgment.
A problem. A mess.
Heat rose up my neck, burning through the cold. “I didn’t mean to—” I began, but he cut across me with a quiet motion of his hand, dismissive, his patience already gone.
“Clearly.”
The word landed sharp and absolute. He peeled his ruined coat away from his body, the gesture measured and clean,as though even the act of touching the stain offended him. Something inside me twisted then, humiliation, anger, the bitter sting of being reduced to something small and clumsy.
“It was an accident,” I said, my voice brittle, struggling to sound steady. “Most people would say it’s fine and move on.”
He lifted his gaze to mine, and in that instant, I wished he hadn’t. His eyes were onyx, dark and unyielding, reflecting nothing but the faint light from the window. For a heartbeat, something shifted behind them, perhaps amusement, perhaps disdain, but it vanished before I could name it.
“I’m not most people, little girl,” he said quietly, the words falling through the space between us with the weight of finality.
The retort escaped before I could silence it, a whisper under my breath, small and sharp enough to sting. “Jerk.”
His head shifted almost imperceptibly, the faintest sign that he had heard, but he said nothing. He turned without another glance, gathering the ruined napkins in one hand before tossing them into the bin. The bell above the door gave a muted jingle as he stepped out into the gray morning, his figure swallowed by the wind and the restless motion beyond the glass. I stood motionless, trembling faintly, my hand still gripping the phone pressed between my fingers. My pulse thudded against my ribs, too loud, too fast, until the faint sound of Aster’s voice drifted through the speaker, puzzled and far away.
“Edwina? Hello? You there?”
I stared at the door where he had disappeared, the echo of his presence still hanging in the air, heavy and cold. The man with the onyx eyes and the voice hollow. “I’m here.” But standing in the aftermath of it all, I wasn’t entirely sure wherehereeven was anymore.
I left the café with my pulse still thrumming, the freezing air slicing across my face sharper than before. The city churned on around me, taxis blaring, commuters muttering into scarves,vendors huddling behind their carts, but it all seemed distant, as though I were moving through glass. I told myself it didn’t matter. So, I’d spilled coffee on a stranger. So, he’d been an unmitigated asshole about it. So what? It wasn’t as though I was ever going to see him again.
Pulling my coat tighter, I navigated the slick sidewalks toward campus, nearly losing my footing once on a patch of invisible ice. The familiar outline of the university emerged ahead, its red-brick buildings rising into the pale morning like old sentinels, solemn and timeworn beneath the January light.
Inside, warmth greeted me in a faint rush. The English Department smelled of lemon polish and aging paper, the scent as familiar as breath. I shook the snow from my scarf and started toward the lecture hall when my phone buzzed.
Group chat:The Ink-Stained Souls
Aster:
Please tell me you didn’t die in a caffeine-related accident.
Gwen:
Or set the café on fire again.
Aster:
Again? Gwen, that was one candle and a highly flammable napkin.
Gwen:
Sure, sure, “highly flammable napkin.” Classic defense.
Aster:
So? Did you survive?
Me:
