Page 31 of What We Don't Say: Part One

A student comes out of the café as we reach the door, balancing iced coffee in one hand and a notebook in the other. She catches herself before she walks straight into Sloane, eyes widening, then looks at me with relief.

“Professor Monroe,” she says. “I’m sorry. I emailed about the thesis proposal.”

“I saw it, Lila.” I hold the door with my shoulder and keep my hand where Theo can find it if he needs to. “Your topic’s strong. Narrow the last paragraph, and stop apologizing before you make your argument.”

Mara smiles like I’ve handed her something useful. “Thank you. I will.”

She hurries across the quad, and Theo stays still beside me after she leaves. His gaze follows Mara for a second before returning to my face, quieter and more focused than before. When his fingers find the edge of my scarf again, he holds on this time, only to the soft fringe, only for the space of one breath.

The faculty café is past the lunch rush, quiet enough for the scrape of one chair to carry from the window tables. Two professors sit near the back with cold tea between them, and someone from admissions taps through messages near the pastry case. Theo checks every person before sliding into the booth beside me, close enough that his knee touches mine under the table.

Sloane sits across from us with his phone face-up beside his water glass. He keeps his hands visible, one wrapped loosely around the glass, the other resting flat on the table like he learned something from yesterday and means to keep it learned.

The server comes by with menus, and Theo’s shoulders rise when she asks what we want to drink. I order hibiscus tea first, then look at him without turning the whole table into a question.

“You can have water, tea, soda, coffee, or nothing yet,” I say. “The water here is fine. The tea is better.”

Theo looks at the server’s notepad, then at me. His fingers touch the seam of my coat under the table, hidden by the edge of the booth.

“Tea,” he whispers.

The server writes it down like the pause has no weight. “Same kind?”

Theo nods.

Sloane waits until she leaves before picking up his phone. He reads the message waiting there, then turns the screen toward me.

Idris: She ordered food?

I take my own phone out and answer before Sloane can enjoy himself too much.

Me: I ordered tea. Food is next. Stop looming from Blackline.

Idris replies almost immediately.

Idris: Food first. Tea after.

Theo reads the message from the side of the table. His gaze flicks from the phone to me, and the careful line of his mouth softens a little.

“He worries,” I say.

Sloane’s thumb moves once over the rim of his glass. “He’s good at it.”

Theo keeps looking at the phone until I set mine face-down beside my napkin. He doesn’t smile, but his shoulder stays against mine while we look over the menu, and the contact settles something inside my ribs.

When the server returns, I order the turkey sandwich with fries because Idris will know if I don’t. Sloane orders a chicken wrap and soup, his eyes on Theo the whole time without staring directly at him. Theo waits until the server turns to him, then looks down at the menu like the words have shifted out of order.

“The grilled cheese is simple,” I say. “Fries come with it. You can change anything.”

His throat moves. “Grilled cheese.”

The server writes it down. “Fries with that?”

Theo nods, eyes lowered.

“Good choice,” I say after she leaves, making the words calm instead of celebratory. “The fries are the best thing here.”

Cardamom eases into the coffee-and-toast smell of the café, faint at first, then a little warmer when Theo’s knee presses more fully against mine beneath the table. My body notices the change before I have time to tell it what the moment is allowed to be. Heat gathers low in my belly, soft and sudden, and I wrap bothhands around the water glass already waiting at my place so I don’t reach for him too fast.