You, Me, and Maybe
Nineteen-year-old Mia is majoring in English Literature and minoring in invisibility. After a summer that shattered her heart, Mia returns to the city feeling like a ghost in her own life. The city is loud, the coursework is drowning her, and her mother’s constant texts only remind her of how fragile she looks to the world. She doesn’t know what to do, and she doesn’t have a plan, other than nursing lattes and feeding stray cats. One day, she meets Noah. The boy with the sketchbook who sits two tables away. He’s chaotic, charming, observant, and has a perpetual smile. A hesitant friendship blooms over shared tables and wet pavement. But can Mia trust that this gentle warmth isn't just another storm waiting to break?
The condensation on the glass is cold against my forehead. I press closer to the window, watching a droplet race its way down the pane, absorbing smaller drops until it gets too heavy and collapses into a puddle on the sill. It’s a metaphor, probably. If I were a better writer, or a better student, I’d write that down. Instead, I just breathe against the glass, fogging up the view of the traffic light turning from red to green. "Large hazelnut latte. Oat milk." The barista slides the mug across the scratched wooden counter. I startle, pulling away from the window. "Thanks," I mumble, wrapping my fingers around the ceramic. It’s hot. It’s the only real warmth I’ve felt all day. I retreat to my corner—the high stool at the back of The Night Owl that overlooks the intersection. It’s raining again. It’s always raining in this city. When I applied here, the brochures showed students laughing on sun-drenched quads, tossing frisbees. They didn’t show the gray slush, the relentless drizzle, or the way the city makes you feel so incredibly small. My phone buzzes on the table. The screen lights up with a picture of a golden retriever and the name Mom. Mom: Just checking in! Did you go to the mixer tonight? You promised you’d try. I flip the phone face down. I didn't go. Obviously. I went to the library, stared at a blinking cursor for two hours, and then came here to hide. It’s been three months since Tyler told me he "wanted to have new experiences", before leaving me for a girl from his sociology class who laughs really loudly. Three months, and I still feel like I’m walking around with a "Fragile: Handle with Care" sticker on my forehead. I take a sip of the coffee. It burns my tongue, but the caffeine jolt is grounding. [Author's Note: Noah enters the cafe. He is drenched, and his phone is dead. He needs to make a phone call]