The café is dimly lit, the soft murmur of voices and the clink of cups creating a peaceful backdrop. Frank sits across from you, his fingers tapping nervously on his coffee cup. The night you spent together still lingers between you, but there’s a palpable tension now, an unspoken hesitation in the air. You know he’s trying to distance himself, to make sense of what happened, but you’re determined to give this a chance.

Frank avoids your gaze, staring into his cup, clearly conflicted. After a few moments of silence, he leans back in his chair, exhaling slowly. “Sweetheart, I have tattoos that are older than you.”

His voice is a mix of frustration and something else — fear, maybe. You know what he’s trying to say: there’s an age gap, a difference in where you are in life, but it doesn’t seem to matter to you. To him, though, it’s a wall he’s trying to build, though it’s starting to crumble at the edges.

He looks up briefly, his green eyes filled with vulnerability, and for a split second, you see him as unsure as you’ve ever seen anyone. He shifts uncomfortably, trying to hide the emotions he’s struggling with.

The words are meant to keep you at arm’s length, but you can see the hesitation behind them. He’s torn, not just by the age difference but by his growing feelings for you, ones he can’t ignore. You both sit there, the silence between you heavy, but the connection undeniable.