The bell above the Parchment café chimed a delicate, lilting tune as Maya stepped into the warm, roasted scent of espresso and baked cinnamon. The little shop had wooden beams and ivy dangling from ceiling hooks, and books stacked in teetering piles by the window, it felt like a literary dream tucked away from the chaos of her current reality. A reprieve. One she desperately needed.
She hadn't texted Logan. Neither had she opened his last three messages. She hadn't even allowed herself to mention his name aloud. Not after Professor Laird's voice echoed through her thoughts all evening like a reprimand from her conscience.
Maya needed balance and that started here, with her classmates and Damian.
Maya spotted them in the far corner, three of her peers nestled into a cozy booth beside the window, their coffee cups steaming and books strewn like confetti.
Damian sat at the edge, dressed down in a forest green sweatshirt and jeans that still managed to look annoyingly perfect on him. As Maya approached, he looked up and his eyes lit up but underneath his eyes was the expression of disappointment, expertly masked.
"Maya," squealed Carla, sliding over. "We didn't think you'd make it."
"I almost didn't," Maya said with a smile, shrugging off her coat. "But here I am. The prodigal tutor."
Damian stood up briefly, the polite gentleman, before sitting back down beside her. "We're honored," he said, the corner of his mouth twitching like he wanted to smile more than he could afford. "It's good to see you."
She met his gaze. There it was again, that quiet, careful intensity. And warmth. Sweet maybe. But dulled, like he was hiding something just behind his kindness.
They ordered drinks-chai for Maya, black coffee for Damian and the conversation rolled with ease. Carla started in about Professor Laird's best rant on Tennyson, mimicking his deep voice and sweeping gestures like she was on stage at the Globe Theatre. The other cackled, and Maya laughed, the kind that started in her belly and loosened the tightness in her chest.
It felt good and Normal.
"Honestly," Carla continued, rolling her eyes, "If he quotes 'Ulysses' one more time like it's a rallying cry for academic pain, I'm dropping out."
Maya grinned, "At least he hasn't called any of us 'intellectually slothful' this week."
"Not yet," Damian muttered. "The week's still young."
That made them all burst out laughing again, Damian's deep chuckle joining their's, thought Maya noticed it didn't quite reach his eyes.
She looked over at him, leaning in slightly. "You okay?"
"Yeah. Yeah, just tired. Long day."
It was a lie, But a gentle one.
There was something in his expression that made her pause. That quiet ache behind his charm. She thought of the day he had saved her. The way his arms had locked around her protectively. The look on his face after Damian had pulled her away like the moment had reopened something he thought he had buried.
Maya softened. "Thanks for inviting me again. I needed this."
Damian shrugged lightly , but his voice was low. "You always say that. Then disappear."
Guilt pricked her chest
"I know," she said, glancing down at her cup. "I've been distracted."
"Logan Hayes kind of distracted?"
Her head snapped up as Carla and the others had broken into another conversation, oblivious.
"What?"
Damian met her eyes, the honesty in them sharp enough to sting. "I saw him, yesterday at campus, the way he grabbed you, Maya..." He shook his head with a small, almost defeated smile. "Let's just say I didn't need a poem to spell it out."
Maya didn't know what to say. She felt guilty with a mixture of confusion. A longing she couldn't admit.
"I didn't know," she murmured.
"I know you didn't," Damian said with a gentle voice. "It's not your fault. But for what it's worth. I'm still glad you came today. Even if it's just once."
That warmed her in a different way.
The rest of the evening blurred into more laughter, more talks about literature and the pretentiousness of their department's latest seminar speaker. Someone suggested a group trip to a museum. Carla made a bet about which one of them would date a professor first.
It was fun, easy and real.
Later on, when Maya got up to leave, walking into the cool evening air and pulling her coat close, she felt the tremble of tension in her chest.
Because even though today was about finding her balance, somewhere between herself, her dreams, and the people around her, Logan still lingered in her mind. And deep down she knew knew balance didn't come easily when the heart kept leaning in one direction.
---
Maya walked in the quiet street her hands tucked into the pockets of her coat, her mind still humming with laughter from the café. She didn't regret turning Damian down when he had offered with a smile to drive her home. But as always, she knew better than to burden his routine with her politeness.
She was fine.
She always had been
Until she wasn't
The figure came from the shadows, fast, lean and reeking of desperation. Maya barely had time to turn before his hand snapped out, snatching at her bag. She stumbled, clutching it instinctively, and that's when the slap came. It was quick and sharp. An explosion of stars across her vision. Her knees hit the cold pavement and the scream caught in her throat as she watched him vanish into the dark with her bag.
The followed bright headlights with the sound of screeching tires.
And a voice that thundered through the air.
"Get the hell away from her!"
The car door slammed and Logan came out.
He was on the man in seconds, but the thief was already running, too fast. He vanished in the night with the stolen bag as Logan chased him to the corner and stopped, fists clenched at his sides.
When he turned back, Maya was still sitting on the sidewalk, dazed. The blood was pulsing in her ears, her cheek stung as her fingers trembled.
"Maya," His voice was low now, furious in a different way. He dropped to his knees in front of her, brushing a lock of hair from her face. "Jesus Christ, are you okay?"
She nodded, or tried to. Her mouth was dry. "My...my phone. It's in my pocket. He didn't get it."
Logan scanned her face, his jaw flexing. "He hit you."
"I'm fine," she said, her voice smaller than she meant it to be.
He didn't argue. He scooped her into his arms like she weighed nothing, like it was the most natural thing in the world to carry her like that. Maya didn't protest, her limbs were soft with shock and something in Logan's scent, his warmth, made her want to close her eyes and let him drive her all the way out of her thoughts.
He didn't speak as he helped her into the passenger seat of his car. He simply pulled off his hoodie and wrapped it around her shoulders, then drove with one hand on the wheel and the other resting lightly on her thigh, grounding her.
It wasn't until they pulled up to the modern, stone and glass building off-campus that Maya blinked and said, "This...this isn't my place."
"No," Logan said, glancing at her as he parked. "It's mine."
She hesitated.
"You're not going home tonight." His voice was quiet, but firm. "You need to rest. I need to know you're safe. And Sienna already knows. You texted her."
She hadn't. But he had done it from her phone when she passed out.
That should've annoyed her but it didn't.
Inside, the place was as polished and masculine as Logan himself. Warm floors, black leather, shelves of books and art that surprised her. It was cleaner than she expected. Bigger than any college apartment had the right to be. The place showcased money, control and solitude.
He led her to the bathroom, pulled out a first aid kit and an brought an Ice pack. She sat on the counter while he stood between her knees, his fingers impossibly gentle as he pressed the cold pack to her cheek.
"You scared the hell out of me," he murmured.
She stared at his face, it was so close. His brows drawn together in fury and protectiveness. There was something about this version of Logan, the one who didn't flirt or tease but was simply real that made Maya ovulate.
"I didn't expect you to be there," she whispered.
"I wasn't supposed to be. I was driving and thinking."
"About me?"
Then his eyes met hers. "Always."
Her heart gave a hard, foolish kick.
He set the ice pack down slowly, but his hands didn't leave her. One slid to her waist, the other to the side of her throat, his thumb tracing the edge of her jaw.
"You should lie down," he said, but his voice had dropped into something husky.
Maya knew she should have moved. Step back. Thank him and go sleep this off. But the room smelled like cedar and salt, and his body heat licked at her skin like a secret. Her hand rose to his chest, her fingers curling into the fabric of his T-shirt.
"You can kiss me," she said.
His mouth twitched, like he was tasting the idea.
"No,' Logan said, lowering his forehead to hers. "Not when you're hurting."
"That's never stopped you before."
"That was before I knew what it meant."
They remained there like that, noses brushing. Close enough for want. Close enough for ruin. Until Maya pulled away first, not because she didn't want him, but because she did.
Logan let her go.
He led her to the guest room and handed her one of his oversized shirts to sleep in, and kissed her forehead before walking away.
But as she slipped beneath the covers, his scent wrapped around her, and the last thing she heard was the quiet click of the door.