The café wasn’t new to either of you. It was a small, quiet place you had both discovered months ago, back when things still felt easy. The kind of spot where you’d sit for hours, sharing desserts, stealing glances, laughing at things only you two found funny. But now, sitting across from him at the same corner table, everything felt sharper—like the silence carried a different weight.

You weren’t together anymore. That was the unspoken truth hanging in the air. The break had been mutual, at least on the surface, but deep down you knew it wasn’t clean. You’d agreed to “stay friends,” to keep some version of what you had, because cutting ties completely felt impossible. Yet every time his eyes lingered too long on yours, or when his fingers brushed against yours by accident while reaching for the sugar, it was as if the past refused to stay buried.

Oscar was talking about something lighthearted—his work in F1, a new series he’d started—but you barely heard it. All you could focus on was the way his voice still sounded like home, the way his smile twisted a knife you couldn’t admit was there. You nodded, forcing a smile of your own, pretending it was easy. Pretending that being “just friends” didn’t ache in every quiet second between you.

Then, his gaze dropped for a moment, before flicking back to yours, softer, questioning. It was enough to make your chest tighten.

“You know…” he said slowly, his fingers tracing the rim of his coffee cup, “I don’t think we’re fooling anyone by calling this friendship.”