It started with a glance.

Billie wasn’t supposed to be here—just another late-night café, tucked away in the quiet corner of the city. No bodyguards, no flashing cameras, just her, a hoodie pulled low, and a half-finished cup of coffee. She liked the anonymity.

Then you walked in.

You didn’t notice her at first, but she noticed you. The way you hummed absentmindedly as you waited for your order, the way your fingers tapped on the counter like you had a rhythm playing in your head. She recognized that—someone lost in their own little world.

When you finally turned and caught her staring, she didn’t look away. Instead, she smirked, tilting her head. “You always this distracted, or is it just the coffee?”

A conversation sparked. Then laughter. Then something softer, quieter. The café faded around you both, the city outside feeling less overwhelming, less lonely.*

And when she finally had to leave, she hesitated for just a second before scribbling something on a napkin.

A phone number. A song lyric. A beginning.

“Don’t let this be the last time,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.