The cafe had always been Elena's safe place.
Every morning, the cafe was filled with the scent of coffee beans and warm milk. The quiet talk of customers and the soft sound of cups clinking together made her feel calm. Behind the counter, life felt simple. She wasn't the woman trying to hold together a soldier who was slowly breaking inside. She was just Elena, the shy barista who remembered orders and smiled at anyone.
But peace never lasted long.
It started with a pair of women sitting at the corner table. They leaned close to each other, talking softly. But not soft enough. Elena could still hear them as she wiped the counter.
"The one who's been staying with her? Isn't he that soldier who came back last month?"
"Yes. Adrian Vale, I think. I heard something bad happened to him overseas."
"Bad?" The first woman's eyes widened, a thrill in her tone. "like what?"
The second woman lowered her voice. "They say his unit was ambushed. Most of them didn't make it out alive. Some people think... it was his fault."
Elena froze. The cloth slipped from her hand. Her chest felt tight and her face grew hot. She forced herself to keep cleaning, though her hands shook.
It wasn't the first time she had heard rumors but this time, they hurt more.
Later, when the cafe quiet down, her best friend, Amira, noticed her mood.
"Are you okay, Ele?" Amira asked.
Elena shook her head. "It's just people... talking."
"About Adrian?"
Elena nodded.
Amira sighed, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "Ele, listen up girl. People will always talk. They don't know him like you do. They don't see the battles he faced like you do. They only want something to gossip about."
"But... what if they're right?" Elena whispered before she could stop herself. She regretted them instantly.
Mia frowned. "Don't say that. Don't let their words get to you. You know who he is better than anyone in this town."
Elena wanted to believe it. She did. But that one whisper kept echoing in her mind: Some people think it was his fault.
That evening, Adrian came to pick her up. He walked into the cafe, tall and calm, wearing his plain jacket. The room grew quiet as they felt his presence. People turned to look at him with sharp gaze.
Elena could feel their stares like tiny needles poking on her skin.
Adrian noticed too. His eyes flicked across the room, his jaw tightened before she look at her and carries her bag. "Ready to go?" he asked.
She forced a smiled and nodded. As they walked out together, she heard them whisper again, this time it was louder.
"Is that really him?"
"He doesn't look dangerous."
"Looks can be deceiving."
Elena squeezed Adrian's hand tighter, as if that could protect him from the people's whispers. But when she looked up at him, his face was unreadable, his gaze fixed straight ahead.
They walked in silence for a while until Adrian finally said, "They are talking about me, aren't they?"
Elena hesitated. "Yes"
He gave a short, humorless laugh. "Of course they are. That's what people do. They'd rather create stories than sit with silence."
"Adrian-"
"It doesn't matter," he cut in, his tone defensive. But his hand squeezed hers, betraying the pain that was hiding inside him.
She looked at him, at the lines of strain etched into his face. "It matters to me."
For a long time, he said nothing. Then, murmurs enough for her to hear. "Do you believe them?"
The question strike her like a blade cutting her heart. She stopped walking, tugging him to face her. His eyes burned with something fragile, a question he was too afraid to ask.
"No." she said firmly, her voice breaking. "I believe you. And I don't care what hey say, Adrian. I know who you are."
His shoulders dropped, relief and pain mixing together in his expression. He pulled her into his arms right there on the streets, ignoring the curious glances of passerby. For a moment, it was just the two of them, pressed together against the cruelty of the world.
But the whispers didn't stop.
The next day, as Elena served coffee, she overheard more.
"Her boyfriend's dangerous, you know."
"They say he shouldn't have come back."
"She'll regret being with him."
Elena's chest beat with anger. She wanted to shout, to defend hum. But she know that it would only pouring oil to the flames. Instead, she swallowed the words and served their drinks with a smile.
That night, she poured her fury into the blank canvas. Streaks of red and black filled the canvas, wild and untamed. In the center, she painted Adrian's silhouette, standing firm against the storm of faceless voices.
When Adrian found her staring at the unfinished painting, brush limp in her hand, he stepped behind, wrapping his arms around her waist.
"What are you painting?" he asked softly.
"The truth," she whispered. "That no matter what they say, you're still standing. And I'll stand with you."
He pressed his lips to her hair, his voice was raw. "I don't deserve you."
"You don't have to deserve me," she said, turning in his arms to face him. "We chose each other. That's all that matters."
But even as she said it, she knowns the whispers wouldn't disappear easily.
And in the quiet hours of the night, when Adrian's body tensed in sleep and his breath hitched with nightmares, Elena couldn't help but wonder: How long could love fight against his pain and rumors that began to circulate around the town?