The next day was unusually cool for mid-semester. The sky wore a shade of gray that made everything feel softer, quieter, like the world itself had paused to take a breath.
I found myself at the campus café after class, not because I needed coffee, but because something pulled me there. Maybe it was curiosity.
Maybe it was instinct.
Or maybe it was him.
Daniel was already there when I walked in, seated by the window, hoodie sleeves pushed up, black notebook open beside his untouched drink.
His tattoo peeked from beneath the fabric again, and I realized this time just how beautiful it was: a phoenix, rising in motion, inked in black with traces of flame-colored detail.
He looked up. And without hesitation, he nodded to the seat across from him.
I blinked.
Was this an invitation?
Yes. It was.
I walked over, trying not to overthink each step. Sat down slowly.
"Hey," I offered.
"You came," he said, voice smooth as ever.
"I didn't know I was expected."
He tilted his head, his eyes never rushing. "You were."
Silence settled for a moment. Not awkward. Just there. The kind that spoke volumes without noise.
"So… Daniel," I said, leaning forward just slightly. "That's your name."
"You asked who I was," he said with a half-smile. "I figured I'd let you discover it yourself."
"Mysterious much?"
He chuckled, low and effortlessly. "I like slow stories. Fast ones burn out."
His words made something flutter deep inside me.
"And what story are we telling here?" I asked.
He looked at me with that same focused softness.
"I don't know yet. But I like how it's starting."
We talked for an hour about little things: books, campus life, childhood cities, and basketball.
He told me how he loves to play basketball.
I told him I loved to write but feared letting people read my work. We were alike in a way that felt too familiar to be forced.
And then, just as the conversation was dipping into something deeper, the café door opened and Jace walked in.
I saw him before Daniel did.
jace. Neatly dressed as always. Eyes searching the room until they landed on me.
He smiled when he saw me, wide and genuine, and walked over.
"Nuella," he said, standing next to our table.
"Hey," I replied, feeling something shift in my chest.
He looked at Daniel, then at me again.
"Didn't know you were hanging out with someone," he added, a slight pause between his words.
Daniel nodded politely but didn't speak.
I didn't know what to say either.
"Jace, this is Daniel," I finally managed. "Daniel, Jace."
They both nodded again.
"Well," Jace said, scratching the back of his neck, "I just wanted to say hi. I'll catch you later."
"Sure," I said, but my voice came out quieter than I intended.
When Jace left, Daniel's gaze returned to me, curious but calm.
"He cares about you," he said.
I sighed. "Yeah. He does."
"Is he the guy?"
I hesitated. "We were a thing. I don't know what he is now."
Daniel nodded slowly, then took a sip from his drink for the first time.
"I'm not here to compete," he said finally. "Just… to be honest. With you. With myself.
Whatever this is, I'll respect it. But I won't lie: I'm drawn to you, Nuella."
The weight of his words settled between us.
Not pressure. Not expectation.
Just the truth.
And for the first time in a long time, I didn't feel like I had to choose yet.
I could just be.
That evening, long after the café had emptied and my mind had finally slowed, I lay in bed with two voices in my head, both warm, both familiar in different ways.
Daniel.
Jace.
One was my past, a page I'd folded but never quite closed.
The other, a line I had only just begun to read.
And somehow, they both found their place in the same sentence as me.
Jace walked away from the café, trying to shrug it off, but the sight of Nuella seated across from another guy stuck like a thorn under his skin.
He had seen the way she leaned forward slightly, the way her laugh had slipped out in that soft, easy way, the one he used to earn without even trying.
And now? She had that same expression, but it wasn't meant for him.
"Maybe I waited too long," he thought, guilt settling like dust on every word he never said.
"Maybe I thought she'd always be there."
He had been focusing on his internship, his ambitions, and life outside campus.
But seeing her today, with someone else, stirred something raw in him.
He opened their last text conversation. She had replied to him politely, but there was a tone he couldn't place. Distance, maybe. Maturity. A soft shield.
Jace closed the chat without replying.
But in his chest, a small ache had begun, and it would only grow louder.
Elsewhere, in Daniel's music-strewn room, he sat with his guitar resting on his lap.
He strummed a few quiet chords, humming a melody he hadn't named yet, but it reminded him of her.
Nuella.
There was something about her quiet, it wasn't silence but stillness.
The kind that held thoughts deeper than words. The kind of stillness that only came from
someone who had lived through more than they let on.
"She doesn't know it," he whispered to himself, "but I see her. I see the strength she hides."
He closed his notebook. The song would wait.
For now, he was more interested in writing something new, not on paper, but in real time with her.
He wasn't one to chase.
But for her… he would walk alongside.
If she let him.
Back to Nuella
I stared at the ceiling, trying to make sense of what I felt.
Jace had history. Comfort. Familiarity.
But Daniel… he had presence.
And sometimes, presence meant more than memory.
My fingers itched to write, so I pulled out my journal, flipped to a fresh page, and let my thoughts spill.
"Maybe life isn't about choosing between fire and calm…
but learning which warmth lets you grow,
and which heat scorches your roots.