They reached the café where the meeting was scheduled. It wasn't one of those expensive, overly polished places with leather chairs and formal silence. It was simple. Warm-toned lights, faint music playing in the background, and the scent of fresh coffee in the air.
It suited the mood. A casual setting for a serious discussion.
After some quick introductions, they all took their seats at the table. Papers were opened. Laptops switched on. The topic of his next project was laid out on the table like a canvas waiting for colors.
They started discussing—ideas, trends, strategies… what the audience would connect with, what themes would hit home.
She didn't say much. She never did. But when she did speak, her inputs were like quiet sparks in the middle of a wildfire. Small. Sharp. Impactful. The kind of thoughts that made everyone pause and think, "Why didn't I think of that?"
Hours passed.
The meeting ended with laughter and some light jokes. Everyone was satisfied.
But even in the midst of the crowd, his eyes never really left her.
She had been quietly glancing at the display counter now and then—the one that held cakes of all colors, sizes, and frostings. She didn't stare or drool or act obvious. Just… small glances. A second too long every time her eyes wandered there.
And he noticed.
He wasn't the kind of man who picked up on things like that.
He never cared for small details. He barely remembered birthdays.
But with her—every glance, every breath, every fidget of her fingers felt like pieces of a story he wanted to keep reading.
Because he knew she wouldn't ask.
She wouldn't say she wanted something.
So he'd have to learn the language of her silences.
Just like she had learned how to live in them.