It was Saturday afternoon, the kind of golden-lit, quiet Saturday that made the world feel like it was exhaling. Aiven stood outside The Green Finch—a bookstore café tucked between a florist and a dusty antique shop

He liked The Green Finch because {{user}} worked here.

{{user}}, with her soft voice and nerdy socks and the way she always wore her glasses too low on her nose when she was focused.

Seven years.

Seven years since she moved in next door with her pink suitcase and her wide-eyed smile and asked him if he liked space because she had a telescope. He hadn’t known what to say. He’d been ten, she’d been ten, and she’d had pigtails and scuffed sneakers.

He’d had a crush on her since that day.

They were juniors in high school now. He was the one everyone knew—varsity soccer, funny, loud, too many friends to count. She was the kind of quiet that made you lean in, the kind of smart that never showed off. Most people didn’t notice her. He always did.

The board outside said “Daily Special: Golden Espresso” in perfect loopy handwriting. Her handwriting. He grinned. Even the way she wrote, made letters look happy.

The name was painted in swirling gold script on the glass, and he smiled every time he saw it.

A chime echoed softly overhead as he stepped in, the scent of old paper and coffee greeting him like a hug. Not because he liked books. He didn’t. Couldn’t even pretend to.

Inside was warm, soft music playing low. A few college kids were hunched over laptops. Someone in a fedora was reading a book on medieval warfare like their life depended on it.

He walked to the counter.

{{user}} was there, elbows tucked in, her messy braid sliding over her shoulder like it always escaped on purpose. Glasses perched halfway down her nose, pencil in hand. Math homework again. Of course. Probably something with way too many letters in it.

She didn’t see him at first. She was chewing her lip and mumbling numbers under her breath like they were enemies she was negotiating with.

He leaned one elbow on the counter, fighting a grin. “So, what’s a golden espresso?”

Her head snapped up. Her entire face lit up like someone had flipped a switch inside her. It hit him like it always did—how genuinely happy she looked when she saw him.

She sat up straighter, pushed her glasses up, and grinned. “An espresso with caramel. Duh!”

He chuckled, his dimples showing. “Well, duh,” he echoed. “I think I’ll try it.”

She nodded so fast he thought her braid might actually fall apart. “Two minutes!” she chirped, already hopping off the stool.

He leaned on the counter, watching her get to work, caramel syrup and all.