First Texts, First Steps

CHAPTER-12

I stared at my phone, thumb hovering over the screen. My fingers were trembling more than I wanted to admit.

If you’re free, we should meet.

I tapped send.

And immediately froze.

Of course. He doesn’t have my number.

Why am I like this?

The next few seconds felt like hours. My chest tightened. My brain ran in circles:

What if he ignores it?

What if he thinks I’m a random scam message?

My thumb hovered over the home button, itching to delete the message.

…and then my phone buzzed.

I snatched it up before I could chicken out.

"…Who is this?"

My stomach dropped.

I groaned, half out loud, half to the ceiling. Of course he would ask. He doesn’t have my number! What was I thinking? What kind of genius sends a first text without even saying their name?

I am the most brilliant idiot alive.

I pressed the reply button and stared at the blinking cursor. My mind scrambled. What do I even say?

Say your name. Keep it simple. Don’t freak out. It’s just texting. Just texting.

I typed.
"Kana… it’s Kana. Sorry, I- uh… I didn’t think about you not having my number."

I hit send before I could overthink it again.

And then the longest silence of my life.

I tapped my foot. I scrolled my social media feed nervously, but nothing distracted me from the little notification bubble blinking in the corner.

Come on, come on…

Another buzz.

"Kana? Oh… okay. Hi."

Hi? That was it? Just hi?

I felt my face heat up so fast I was sure anyone nearby could see it through the phone screen. I wanted to crawl under the desk and hide. Instead, I typed again, fingers fumbling over the keys:

"Yeah… sorry again. I just… thought maybe we could… hang out? If you’re free. No pressure, just… yeah."

I sat back, closed my eyes, and groaned into my palm.

This is ridiculous. So awkward. Why did I do this?

But the phone buzzed again.

"I… actually am free later. Where do you want to meet?"

I blinked. My heart practically jumped out of my chest.

He said yes. He actually said yes.

I didn’t even pause to think. My fingers flew:
"There’s a small café near the park… by the corner of Main Street? Around 7?"

A few moments passed. Nothing. I started overthinking again:

Did I pick a good place?

Too casual? Too fancy?

What if he thinks I’m trying too hard?

What if he hates coffee?

And then:

"Sounds good. See you there."

I nearly dropped my phone. My heart was racing, my palms sweating.

I actually set up a meeting with him. With Issei.

I couldn’t help but giggle, then immediately groaned at myself. Stop giggling. Stop acting like a middle schooler.

The next few hours crawled. My rehearsals and study sessions felt impossibly slow. Every time my phone buzzed, my chest tightened. But nothing else came. He hadn’t texted again, which somehow made the anticipation worse.

By the time 6:30 rolled around, I had dressed, redone my hair twice, and still wasn’t sure if I looked decent or just… panicked.

I left my apartment with my jacket pulled tight, a scarf wrapped messily around my neck, and my phone clutched like a lifeline.

The café was quiet when I arrived, small lamps casting soft circles of light across the tables. I perched on a chair by the window, hands wrapped around a mug of steaming tea I didn’t even taste.

And then I saw him.

Issei, calm as ever, leaning against the doorframe, scanning the room. His eyes landed on me. A small, almost shy smile tugged at his lips.

My stomach flipped. My mouth went dry.

He came over, and for a moment, we just stared at each other. Not awkwardly, not tensely.

Just… absorbing. The air between us felt electric, and yet safe, familiar.

"Hi," he said softly.

"Hi," I whispered back, cheeks burning.

He pulled out the chair opposite me and sat down. We didn’t speak for a moment, just letting the hum of the café fill the silence. And then…

"You really didn’t have to text me like that," he said, teasing just a little, "and yet, here we are."

I groaned inwardly. I knew this was going to happen. I should’ve been smoother. Less panicked. Less… me.

"I- I didn’t think," I admitted, fingers fiddling with the edge of my scarf. "I just… wanted to see you."

He smiled, and it was warm. Easy. Perfect. "Well… I’m glad you did."

That was it. That small acknowledgment, the simplicity of his words, made my chest tighten in the best possible way.

We ordered our drinks and settled into the small table, talking quietly at first. Small things. Classes. Music. Minor absurdities of our lives. But slowly, the conversation deepened. Jokes became laughter. Stories became confessions. And every so often, our hands brushed across the table, each accidental contact sending a ripple through my chest that I didn’t try to hide.

Hours slipped by, unnoticed. I lost track of the time. I didn’t care. I wanted to memorize the cadence of his voice, the way his eyes crinkled when he laughed, the gentle way he listened even when I rambled.

At some point, he leaned back and studied me carefully, expression soft. "You know," he said, voice low, "I’ve been thinking about that night in the park."

I felt my stomach knot slightly. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," he continued. "I’ve wanted to tell you… I wasn’t just thinking about confessing because I like you. I was thinking about how you make people… calmer. Even me. Even when everything else is chaotic, you have this… effect."

My face heated instantly. "You… really think that?"

He nodded. "Yeah. And I wanted you to know. Not just the words, but… that it matters."

My chest tightened. Words caught in my throat. I didn’t know what to say. Nothing seemed enough.

Instead, I just reached over, lightly brushing my hand against his. He didn’t pull away.

And for the first time, I felt like maybe… maybe we were finally moving from words into something real. Something ours.

The city outside the café lights flickered as the evening deepened. But inside, at our small table with two half-drunk drinks, the rest of the world didn’t exist. It was just the two of us. Quiet, tentative, and utterly, dangerously alive.

I let my fingers linger near his, though I didn’t quite grasp his hand. Just proximity. Just a reminder that he was here, and I was here, and somehow that was enough.

“So… finals are finally almost over,” I said, trying to fill the silence without breaking the tension that felt… delicate, precious.

He nodded, eyes still on me. “Yeah. I don’t think I’ve been this ready for a break in years. Too much stress, too little sleep.” He gave a small laugh, a sound that made my chest flutter. “And you? How are you holding up?”

“Exhausted,” I admitted, letting out a long breath. “But… happier than I expected. After the release, everything’s been… intense. But in a good way, I think.”

He tilted his head, studying me as if he was memorizing every word. “I can tell,” he said quietly. “You carry it all… gracefully. Even when it’s hard.”

Graceful. The word made me choke back a laugh. Me? Graceful? “You make it sound like I’m some kind of superhero or something,” I said, rolling my eyes, but smiling nonetheless.

He shrugged, a small, lazy movement, but his eyes stayed locked on mine. “Maybe you are. Or at least… maybe you make it look easier than it is.”

I felt heat creeping up my neck again. The way he looked at me, so genuinely, without pretense… it was overwhelming and grounding at the same time.

A few seconds of silence passed, but it didn’t feel empty. It felt… suspended. Waiting. Perfectly poised between heartbeats.

“So,” I said, finally breaking the spell, “you actually read the comments on the song yet?” I tried to sound casual, but my voice betrayed me, a little too high-pitched, a little too nervous.

He smiled, a faint curl of his lips. “I’ve seen a few. Honestly… everyone seems impressed. But… the thing is,” he leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on the table, “I don’t care what anyone says. I already knew how talented you were. Seeing everyone else finally notice… it’s just… nice for you, I guess.”

My heart skipped again. Nice for me? Him saying it felt… different from anyone else. Honest. Sincere.

I bit my lip. “Thanks… that means a lot.”

We both fell quiet again. I wanted to say more, but the words felt heavy. Dangerous in their own way. So instead, I just watched him. The way the dim café lights caught the soft angles of his face, the faint shadow beneath his jaw, the easy tilt of his head when he smiled.

Minutes passed, but in that little bubble, it felt like hours.

Finally, he cleared his throat. “You know… we should do this more often. Just… sit somewhere, talk… be normal for a little while.”

I swallowed, suddenly aware of how much I wanted exactly that. “Yeah… I’d like that.”

His smile grew, softer now, almost shy. “Good. I was worried you might think I was… overstepping. Or rushing things.”

“You’re not,” I said quickly, voice firmer than I expected. “Not at all. I… I want this too.”

That made his eyes light up ever so slightly. A flicker of something.

Relief? Happiness?

Passed through them, and my chest felt impossibly full.

We lingered longer, sipping drinks we barely tasted, letting conversation drift from the mundane to the small, personal details that mattered. I learned about his favorite café order (coffee with milk and sugar), the song he’d been humming in the mornings (apparently some old jazz tune he swore was underappreciated), and that he had a ridiculous number of little notebooks he carried everywhere for… doodles, notes, lyrics, random thoughts.

“And you?” he asked, tilting his head toward me. “Do you… write stuff down? Besides songs?”

I nodded, cheeks warming. “Yeah. Sometimes. Mostly… just thoughts. Little things I want to remember. Or… things I want to think about later, quietly.”

He smiled softly. “That sounds… just like you.”

Something about that made me smile too. And I realized… I wanted him to know more. All of me. Not just the polished, public side, not just the version of me that performed and smiled on cue. But the messy, nervous, overly-emotional side too.

“Maybe… someday,” I said quietly, “I’ll show you some of it.”

“I’d like that,” he whispered back, and there was no teasing in his tone this time. Only honesty. Only the quiet promise that he would wait.

The night stretched on, and eventually, we stepped out of the café, the air cooler than before. I wrapped my scarf a little tighter, though I didn’t want to break the warmth of the moment.

We walked slowly toward the park, footsteps echoing softly on the empty streets. Each brush of our shoulders made my heart skip. Each glance at him, a thrill I couldn’t contain.

Finally, we reached the park bench, the very one where everything had started weeks ago. The streetlamps cast gentle circles of light across the empty ground.

He stopped and looked at me, expression soft, careful. “This… feels like the right place to end tonight. At least for now.”

I nodded, swallowing hard. “Yeah… for now.”

We lingered, letting the silence speak. No need for words this time. Our hands found each other naturally, fingers interlacing as if it had always been meant to be.

For a moment, I allowed myself to believe in it fully. That maybe this… all of this… could be ours.

Slowly. Quietly. Carefully.

He squeezed my hand lightly. “See you soon?”

I nodded, smiling. “See you soon.”

And for the first time in weeks, as he walked away and disappeared into the quiet city streets, I didn’t feel anxious. I didn’t feel the weight of the world pressing down. I just felt… hope.

The moonlight above the park seemed to shine a little brighter that night, casting everything in a soft glow. And I knew… no matter what happened, tonight had changed everything.

CHAPTER-12 END