Chapter 2: Late Nights and Lingering Eyes

The soft hum of the bookstore’s closing music played overhead as Riya wiped down the café tables. The warm scent of espresso lingered in the air, mixing with the faint hint of old paper from the bookshelves. Miya stood near the door, flipping the sign from OPEN to CLOSED with a dramatic flair.

“Another day survived,” Miya announced, spinning the key on her finger like a prize. “I say we deserve a medal.”

“You say that every night,” Riya teased, stacking the last chair.

“And I’m never wrong.”

Riya chuckled, tossing her cloth back into the bucket. Miya’s energy was contagious — the way she could turn the most ordinary day into something that felt like an adventure.

“You wanna hang out a bit?” Miya asked, leaning against the counter. “I mean… if you’re not in a rush.”

Riya hesitated. “I should probably—”

“Oh, come on,” Miya cut in, her grin widening. “I’ll make you a drink. On the house.”

“You literally don’t own the house.”

Miya gasped in mock offense. “Fine. Guess I’ll just drink both hot chocolates myself…” She turned toward the espresso machine, her back to Riya.

“You’re impossible,” Riya muttered — but her smile betrayed her.

Moments later, they were sitting on the floor behind the counter, mugs in hand. The store felt different after hours — quieter, calmer, almost magical.

“So,” Miya began, tracing her finger along her mug’s rim, “you never told me why you wanted this job.”

“I don’t know,” Riya shrugged. “Seemed… safe.”

“Safe?” Miya tilted her head. “That’s boring.”

“Not everyone’s like you,” Riya shot back. “Some of us aren’t… fearless.”

Miya laughed — but softer this time. “I’m not fearless.”

“You sure act like it.”

For a moment, Miya didn’t answer. She just stared into her drink, her playful edge dimming.

“My dad left when I was nine,” Miya said quietly. “Mom had to work a lot after that, so… I kinda had to figure things out on my own.”

Riya blinked. She hadn’t expected that. “I… didn’t know.”

Miya shrugged, flashing her usual grin like she could laugh it off. “Guess I just learned not to worry so much. Feels easier that way.”

Riya’s chest tightened. “Well… you’re pretty good at pretending you’ve got it all together.”

“Key word: pretending,” Miya muttered. Then, as if flipping a switch, her grin returned. “Anyway,” she said, bumping her shoulder against Riya’s, “I think you’re cooler than you give yourself credit for.”

Riya felt her face heat. “I don’t know about that.”

“I do.”

The air between them shifted — softer now, quieter. Miya’s gaze lingered, and Riya swore her heart skipped a beat.

“You’ve got this… cute little crinkle when you’re nervous,” Miya murmured, tapping the corner of her own eye to mimic it.

“I do not,” Riya blurted.

“You totally do,” Miya teased, voice lower now. Her hand moved without warning, brushing a strand of hair behind Riya’s ear — slow, gentle, deliberate. Riya froze.

“I…” Riya’s words died in her throat. Miya’s hand lingered a second too long — or maybe not long enough.

“Relax,” Miya whispered with a smirk, but her voice sounded different now — softer, like she wasn’t as sure as before. “It’s just me.”

But that was the problem. It wasn’t just Miya anymore.

“Yeah,” Riya muttered, setting her mug down before her shaking hands gave her away. “It’s just you.”

They sat in silence after that — close enough for their knees to touch, close enough that Riya felt her pulse in her fingertips.

When they finally left the store, the night air was cold, but Riya’s skin still felt warm.

---

Later that night, her phone buzzed.

Miya: Had fun tonight. We should do that more often.

Riya hesitated before typing back.

Riya: Yeah… we should.

Her thumb hovered over the screen. Before she could change her mind, she added one more message.