The following Saturday, the rain was gone, but its memory lingered—in puddles on the sidewalk, in the misty air, in the way Ella's hair curled slightly from the leftover humidity.
Emmanuel had been planning this moment all week.
Not flowers.
Not fancy dinner.
Just time. Just her.
He waited outside her hostel, leaning casually against a low wall. His heart was racing, though he kept his face calm. The same hands that once held dozens of girls without thought now tingled at the thought of holding hers again.
Then she appeared.
Ella.
A light sweater over a sundress. Simple, effortless—and to Emmanuel, absolutely stunning.
"You're early," she said.
He shrugged with a crooked grin. "You make time feel slow."
She gave him a small look, amused but flattered. "That was smooth."
"I've been rehearsing," he admitted with a chuckle. "Shall we?"
She nodded, and they began to walk.
---
They didn't go far—just a quiet café tucked between old bookshops and a flower stall that smelled like lavender and rain.
It wasn't crowded. It wasn't loud.
And that's why he chose it.
They sat by the window, the sun washing over them through soft curtains. Emmanuel ordered vanilla lattes for both of them, remembering her love for warm, simple things.
"So," he said, watching her stir her drink, "what's one thing nobody knows about you?"
Ella raised a brow. "Starting with secrets already?"
He smiled. "It's only fair. You already know I used to be a mess."
She sipped her drink, then answered, "I still talk to my dad sometimes."
Emmanuel blinked. "You mean…?"
She nodded. "He's gone. But I talk to him. In my head. Especially when I feel lost."
He didn't laugh. He didn't joke.
He just said, "That makes sense."
Her eyes softened. "You're the first person who's ever said that."
They sat in silence for a moment, letting the truth sit between them without pressure.
Then she tilted her head. "Your turn."
He looked down, swirling his coffee before whispering, "Sometimes I dream about being someone else."
"Someone better?"
"Someone enough," he said.
Her hand reached out, resting gently on his across the table.
"You are," she said softly. "You're just learning it."
---
Later, they wandered down the street, passing painted shop signs and old women selling roasted corn. The sky was dimming, golden light brushing the tops of the buildings.
Ella stopped in front of a street musician—a young boy playing guitar with a cracked case at his feet. The music was clumsy, but heartfelt.
She smiled and dropped a note into the case, then turned to Emmanuel.
"Dance with me."
He laughed. "Here? In public?"
"Scared?"
"No," he said, stepping closer. "Just stunned."
She took his hand, pulled him close, and right there on the sidewalk, they swayed to the offbeat music. People passed by, some staring, some smiling—but Emmanuel didn't notice any of them.
All he saw was her.
And in that moment, time didn't just slow—it stopped.
---
As the sky turned to soft evening and the stars blinked alive, they walked back to her hostel slowly, neither of them ready to say goodbye.
Outside her door, Emmanuel hesitated. "This was… more than I expected."
Ella looked up at him, her voice low. "Me too."
"I don't want to rush anything," he said. "But I'd really like to kiss you right now."
She didn't answer right away.
Instead, she reached up, brushed a strand of hair from his face, and whispered, "Then don't rush. Wait."
He nodded, even though every part of him ached for her.
Because for once, waiting felt just as perfect as having.
She smiled one last time, then slipped inside, leaving the scent of warm skin and soft vanilla behind.
Emmanuel stood there, heart full.
No kiss. No drama.
But somehow—he felt kissed all the same.