Sunday Afternoon — The Village Café

The little bell above the café door rang like always, and you spotted him right away — same booth, same half-empty glass of lemonade, same curls falling into his eyes as he tried (and failed) to look casual while waiting.

Your heart did the same little skip it always did.

“Hey,” you greeted, sliding into the booth across from him.

Ajax smiled, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes this time. “Hey.”

There was something different today. He wasn’t sketching or doodling like usual. His notebook lay closed on the table, pencil untouched. His fingers drummed nervously against the glass.

You tilted your head. “You okay?”

He opened his mouth. Closed it. Looked away, then back at you. His leg was bouncing under the table. “Yeah. I mean—no. I mean—”

You laughed softly. “That cleared everything up.”

He groaned, burying his face in his hands. “Why am I so bad at this?”

“At what?”

Ajax lifted his head, golden eyes full of that nervous fire you’d only ever glimpsed before. He exhaled sharply, as if he’d decided to just rip the bandage off.

“At… not telling you how I feel.”

Your breath caught. “Ajax—”

He rushed on, words tumbling over each other. “We’ve been doing this for months. Every Sunday. And it’s the best part of my week. Honestly, it’s the best part of me. I sit here pretending it’s just—just coffee and dumb sketches and small talk, but it’s not. It’s more. For me. Way more.”

Your heartbeat roared in your ears.

Ajax leaned forward, hands flat on the table now, eyes locked on yours. “I like you. Like… a lot. And I’ve tried to keep it in because I didn’t wanna screw this up, but I can’t sit here every Sunday and not tell you anymore. So… yeah.”

Silence hung between you, heavy but charged. The café chatter faded into a distant hum, the world narrowing to the boy across from you — curls messy, cheeks flushed, heart wide open on the table.

You smiled, small at first, then breaking wider. “Finally.”

Ajax blinked. “Wait—what?”

“I was starting to think I’d have to confess first,” you teased.

Relief and disbelief hit him all at once. He laughed — the kind of laugh that shook out of him, raw and real. And then, before he could overthink it, he reached across the table, his hand covering yours.

Your fingers curled into his without hesitation.