Chapter Three
The Girl Who Stayed
"I was wondering if you'd come back."
For a second...
I forgot how to breathe.
Slowly, I turned toward the voice.
There he was.
The same faded denim jacket.
The same worn-out acoustic guitar resting against the stool.
And the same shy smile I'd been thinking about far more often than I cared to admit.
"You came back," he said.
I blinked.
"You... remember me?"
He looked genuinely confused.
"You were the only person who stayed until the last song."
"...Oh."
"I think that's pretty hard to forget."
I felt my cheeks grow warm.
I wasn't sure if it was because of the compliment...
Or because he'd actually remembered me.
He gestured toward an empty table near the stage.
"Your seat's still free."
"My seat?"
He chuckled.
"The one you sat in last week."
"You remember that too?"
He shrugged.
"There weren't many people left."
I laughed softly.
"I guess not."
The café wasn't much busier than the week before.
A few college students sat near the window.
Someone quietly typed away on a laptop.
A couple shared a slice of cake.
It felt...
Comfortable.
Like stepping into a place that had quietly waited for you.
As I settled into the same seat, the waitress walked over with a smile.
"The usual?"
I frowned.
"The usual?"
She pointed toward the stage.
"He told us."
I looked up.
He was adjusting the microphone, pretending not to notice my confused expression.
A few moments later...
A slice of New York cheesecake was placed in front of me.
Along with an iced latte.
Exactly how I'd ordered it the week before.
I stared at the plate.
"...Seriously?"
The waitress grinned.
"He has a surprisingly good memory."
A few minutes later, the lights dimmed.
He stepped onto the tiny platform.
"Good evening, everyone."
A few people clapped.
He smiled.
"Before we start..."
His eyes wandered across the room.
Then...
For the briefest moment...
They found mine.
"I'd like to dedicate tonight's first song..."
He paused.
"...to someone who reminded me why it's worth playing, even when there are only a few people listening."
My heart skipped.
The café filled with gentle applause.
I glanced around, wondering who he was talking about.
Maybe someone else.
Maybe a regular.
Maybe—
Then he smiled.
At me.
Just for a second.
Before looking down at his guitar.
The music began.
This time...
It wasn't a song I know,
it was an original song.
No title.
No lyrics anyone could sing along to.
Just a melody.
Quiet.
Hopeful.
Unfinished.
It sounded like the beginning of something.
After the performance ended, I waited until everyone had left.
I don't know why.
Maybe because that's what I'd done before.
Maybe because I wanted to say goodbye.
Or maybe...
I simply wasn't ready to leave.
He carefully placed his guitar back into its case before walking over.
"So..."
"So..."
We both laughed.
"I realized something," I admitted.
"Oh?"
"I still don't know your name."
He smiled.
"I was wondering when you'd ask."
Before he could answer—
Someone burst through the café doors.
"Dude!"
A tall guy rushed in, slightly out of breath.
"The producer's here."
The guitarist looked at him.
"What?"
"He's waiting outside."
Silence.
The entire café seemed to pause.
The guitarist looked back at me.
"I'm sorry..."
"I have to go."
Before I could say anything...
He picked up his guitar and hurried out the door.
Leaving behind...
A forgotten notebook on the chair beside the stage.
I looked at it for a long moment.
Then slowly reached for it.