I slowly came back to my senses.

Not with some dramatic moment of clarity, it happened in pieces, while I wiped crumbs off the counter, counted loose change at the register, and watched strangers live lives unrelated to my heartbreak. The world hadn’t stopped because Elio disappeared, San Francisco continued moving at its own pace, loud and unapologetic.

So, I forced myself to keep up with it, work became my anchor and the snack shop was small, cramped, and always noisy, but it gave me structure. People came in hungry and impatient, left satisfied or annoyed, and never asked how I was really doing,i liked that, i liked being invisible again.

That entire week passed without incident, and i didn’t think about Rye.

At least, not consciously.

Sunday arrived with a rare stillness, it was my day off, and for the first time in weeks, I had nowhere I was required to be. The freedom felt strange and almost uncomfortable, after breakfast, I cleaned my room to keep my hands busy, then decided to visit Ava.

Her apartment smelled like perfume and burnt toast, she lay sprawled across the couch, scrolling through her phone as if life was just a series of minor issues.

“You should find a job,” I said after we talked for a while.

She looked up slowly, “is that your way of saying I’m lazy?”

“It’s my way of saying it helps,” I replied, “It keeps your mind from spiraling.”

She smirked, “since when did you become the responsible one?”

“Since sitting alone with my thoughts almost destroyed me.”

That wiped the smile off her face.

She nodded, “i’ll think about it.”

I didn’t push, something between us had shifted permanently, and I was learning not to lean too hard where the ground felt unstable.

While I sat with Ava, downtown continued without me.

Rye walked into the shop that afternoon, the bell above the door chimed, and my boss looked up from the counter, and Rye stood there like he belonged tailored jacket, relaxed posture, and eyes already scanning the space.

“Where’s the girl from Monday?” he asked.

“She’s off today,” my boss replied.

Rye frowned slightly, “that’s unfortunate, he pretended to study the menu, then casually asked, “Can I get her number?”

My boss hesitated, “we don’t usually...”

“I’d like to place an order later,” Rye said smoothly, “she handled my last one, great service.”

The hesitation faded, my boss wrote the number down.

That night, I was halfway through folding laundry when my phone rang.

Unknown number.

I answered automatically, “hello, this is Vanya.”

There was a brief pause, then a low, amused voice replied, “Good, I hoped it was you.”

I froze, “who’s this?”

“It’s Rye.”

My heart jumped in a way that annoyed me.

“How did you get my number?” I asked, sitting on the edge of my bed.

“Your boss,” he said easily, “i hope that’s not a problem.”

“It’s… unexpected I said.

He laughed softly, “i tend to be.”

I pressed the phone closer to my ear and why are you calling?

“Because I wanted to be friends,” he said, and because I still owe myself another order.

Friends.

The word sounded harmless enough, still, something in his tone suggested he didn’t mean it the way most people did.

“You don’t waste time, do you?” I asked.

“No,” Rye replied, “life’s too short to hesitate.”

I didn’t know what to say to that.

We talked for a few minutes nothing deep, nothing heavy. He asked about the shop, and i asked about his work, he answered vaguely, confidently, like someone who didn’t need to prove anything.

Before hanging up, he said, “I’ll see you soon, Vanya.”

After the call ended, I stared at my phone for a long time, my chest felt tight, not exactly with fear, but with awareness. Attention had found me again, and I wasn’t sure if I was ready for it.

The next day at work, my boss raised an eyebrow, “You’ve got admirers.”

I frowned, “what?”

“That guy from yesterday,” he said, “looked like trouble.”

I laughed it off, hee just wanted to order snacks.

“Mm-hmm,” my boss muttered.

That evening, my mother played music in the kitchen while cooking dinner, an old-school songs, she was swaying dramatically as if she were on a stage.

“Mom,” I said, amused. “What are you doing?

She grabbed my hands and pulled me in, your dad is coming back, let's cooked his favorite, she said.

I smile despite myself, she only knew her daughter had been quiet for too long.

Later that night, my phone buzzed again.

A message

Rye: I placed an order for tomorrow, and i hope you’re working.

I stared at the screen, my pulse quickening, something told me this wasn’t just coincidence.

And for the first time in months, I wasn’t sure whether to run or wait and see how deep the fire went.

The next day, I packed Rye’s order myself. I told myself it was just another delivery, snacks wrapped neatly, receipt stapled, nothing personal about it. I handed it to the delivery guy and went back to work, wiping the counter with more force than necessary.

Rye didn’t like that. He showed up an hour later, wearing sunglasses, exuding confidence, standing in the middle of the shop like it was his.

“Why didn’t you deliver it yourself?” he asked, leaning against the counter.

Before I could respond, my boss spoke up from behind me. “We have staff for deliveries, her work is in the shop not road.”

Rye’s smile tightened, just a bit.

“Good to know,” he said, straightening.

He left without another word, and I pretended not to notice how his eyes lingered on me before the door closed.

Two days later, he returned this time, he ordered coffee and stayed, he sat near the window, sipping slowly, watching me work like it was part of his routine now. Every time I looked up, his gaze was already there calm, unreadable, almost amused. It made me nervous in a way I couldn’t explain.

When closing time came, I tied my apron loosely and reached for my bag, and Rye stood up too

“I’ll drive you home he said.

“I’m fine,” I said quickly, “i usually walk.”

“It’s late he added

I still prefer walking I replied but he followed me outside anyway.

The city lights reflected off his car, sleek and expensive, definitely not meant for casual rides. He opened the passenger door, and say "get in," looking pitiful

I hesitated, and i don’t know if it was exhaustion, curiosity, or loneliness, but I got in.

He didn’t take me home, instead, he drove to a luxury restaurant downtown, with all glass and warm lighting, the kind of place where waiters spoke softly and menus didn’t show prices.

“I said no,” I reminded him.

He smiled, “you said you didn’t want to be a burden and this isn’t a burden, he said.

Dinner felt unreal, wine I barely touched and food I barely tasted. Rye talked easily, confidently, like someone who was used to being listened to, when the bill came, he slid cash across the table without looking, then he handed me money.

“For you,” he said, “don’t argue.”

I froze, “Rye, I don’t....

“It’s nothing,” he insisted. “girls like to feel taken care of.”

Something about that made my stomach twist, but I took it anyway, and told myself it didn’t mean anything.

Weeks passed, and our friendship grew too fast, calls turned into late-night conversations, and coffee turned into dinners, compliments turned into expectations. Rye was charming, attentive, and overwhelming in the way only someone used to control could be.

One night, he stopped talking mid-sentence and looked straight at me.

“I love you,” he said, “be my girlfriend.”

The words hit like a wave, i didn’t answer him, all my thoughts scattered Elio, the silence, the way love had burned me before, thirty minutes passed with Rye watching me patiently, like he already knew the outcome.

“I don’t want to get hurt again,” I said finally, “i need time.”

Rye leaned closer, “say yes and I’ll prove I’m nothing like your ex.”

Curiosity and fate won and i said yes.

The following week, Ava came to visit me at work, she was laughing, dramatic as ever, when Rye walked in. I introduced them, Ava’s eyes lit up immediately, she smiled at Rye like she’d been waiting for him, and in that moment, something cold slipped down my spine.