Aliya's phone calls with her mother had become a predictable routine, filled with the same grievances and nostalgia for what used to be. As she walked the familiar path from university to the cafe where she worked, her mother's voice crackled through the phone. "Alu, it's just not the same here without you," her mother lamented, her words heavy with unspoken accusations. The rustle of her sari could almost be heard as she fussed around in the background. "Your Baba, he won't even move to help me, and here I am, drowning in chores!"

Aliya's steps slowed, her boots tapping a hesitant rhythm on the cracked pavement. She could almost smell the spices of her mother's kitchen, a stark contrast to the faint scent of exhaust mingling with urban greenery air around her. "Ma, I know it's hard. I miss home too," she whispered, her voice barely rising above the whoosh of a passing bus.

Her mother's sigh crackled through the line, a sound as familiar as the monsoon rains back home. "If only you were married, I could come and stay with you," she said, her voice a blend of hope and resignation. Aliya wanted to focus on her mother's words, to reassure her, but her thoughts kept drifting to Dylan.

She blamed herself for not inviting him in for coffee, for not directly asking for his number, for not flirting enough to make it clear that she liked him.

"Why didn't I just ask for his number?" she thought, distractedly wiping the counter. "It would've been so easy to invite him in for coffee. What was I thinking?"

"Excuse me, miss?"

Her head jerked up. "Oh, sorry! What can I get for you?"

The customer repeated their order, and she tried to focus, but her thoughts kept drifting back to Dylan. It had been four days since he'd driven her back to her dorm, and she couldn't stop thinking about him.

"Maybe he's just shy," she mused while steaming milk, glancing at her phone again. "Maybe he's waiting for me to make the first move."

She kept hoping for a friend request from him on Facebook. Each notification sent her heart racing, a thud of hope, only to be followed by disappointment when she saw it wasn't from him.

"Come on, get it together," she muttered to herself, forcing a smile as she handed the customer their coffee. "It's just one guy."

But as she took the next order, her thoughts circled back to him. "Why didn't I flirt more? Did he even know I liked him?" The questions spun in her mind, relentless and unresolved, making it hard to focus on anything else.

Tuesday came unceremoniously, cloaked in the ordinary. Aliya walked into the cafe, her workplace, enveloped by the familiar buzz of student conversations and the rich, inviting scent of brewed coffee. She tied on her apron, her movements automatic, her mind still wandering to thoughts of Dylan.

The chime of the doorbell snapped her back to reality. Lifting her gaze automatically, her heart skipped a beat—the kind of skip that felt like a fluttering butterfly trapped inside her chest. Dylan walked through the door, breaking the routine of his usual Thursday visits. He wasn't just a figment of her overthinking; he was here, on a Tuesday.

His eyes briefly scanned the menu board overhead, though Aliya knew he came in often enough to know it by heart. Watching him pretend to ponder his choices, she took a deep breath, steadying her nerves before she could greet him.

"Hi, Dylan," she managed, her voice a mix of warmth and surprise.

"Hey, Aliya," he responded, his eyes brightening with recognition and something more—something hopeful. "I'll have a large black coffee and a classic chocolate pistachio croissant."

She nodded, her fingers trembling slightly as they danced across the register. "Will that be to go, or are you staying?"

"To go, please," he said, tapping his fingers against the wooden counter, a rhythmic tap-tap that echoed his growing nerves.

With a swift motion, Aliya prepared his coffee, the scent of roasted beans filling the air. "Here you go," she said, sliding the cup across the counter to him.

He paused, his hand brushing against hers as he took the cup. His other hand rubbed the back of his neck, an awkward smile forming. "Actually, I didn't come here just for coffee today."

Aliya's brows lifted in curiosity. "Oh? What's the occasion then?"

He exhaled, a nervous chuckle escaping him. "Well, I've been cooking... made a lot of spaghetti with chicken meatballs, got some ice cream, and a bottle of wine. What do you think? Does it sound like a decent meal?"

Her lips curled into a smile, amusement twinkling in her eyes. "Sounds like an amazing menu for a date," Aliya chuckled, watching his reaction closely.

The corners of his mouth twitched upwards. "Haha, so... would you like to join me tonight?" he ventured, hope threading through his words.

Aliya hesitated, a moment of silence hanging between them like a delicate thread. "Are you... asking me on a date?"

His face turned a shade redder, and he gave a nervous shake of his head, his smile unsure but sincere. "No! Yes. I mean, which answer would you prefer?" He paused, taking a deep breath. "Since I'm inviting you over and there's wine involved, it might sound like a date. But if you'd rather not label it..."

Her laughter, light and genuine, filled the space between them. His honesty, so raw and charming, made her heart skip. "I'd love to call it a date," she admitted, her cheeks warming with a soft blush.

The café seemed to brighten around them, the afternoon light catching in the floating dust motes, turning them into tiny specks of gold. Aliya's fingers brushed against his as she handed him the neatly wrapped croissant, her touch deliberate this time.

"Then it's a date," he said, his voice steadier but still tinged with disbelief, as if he couldn't quite believe his luck. As he turned to leave, the bell chimed again.

Suddenly, Aliya felt a warm embrace from behind. She was swept into a tight hug that lifted her slightly off the ground. Thema, her co-worker and confidante, had watched the scene unfold from the other end of the counter. Thema, a vivacious woman with a mop of curly hair and a booming laugh, was always quick to partake in any joy or drama in the café.

"My girl just landed a date with the guy she's been mooning over for the last six months!" Thema exclaimed, her voice booming over the hum of the café. Her excitement was palpable, her hands squeezing Aliya's shoulders affectionately.

Aliya's laughter mingled with Thema's as they spun around once in their celebratory embrace.

"Thema, I can't believe this is actually happening," Aliya whispered, her hands clasped over her heart, trying to calm the wild fluttering inside her chest.

"I told you, honey, all you had to do was give him that 'come hither' look with your killer smile, and bam, he was yours!" Thema teased, wagging a playful finger. Her gestures were exaggerated, her brows arched in mock seriousness.

Aliya rolled her eyes, a playful smirk tugging at the corners of her lips. "Oh, shut up. It was not the 'come hither' look. It was just... being honest, I guess."

"Honesty, schmonesty, it's all in the eyes, darling," Thema countered with a wink, her tone light and teasing.

As the clock ticked past 7:00 PM, the café's daily bustle faded into a hushed serenity, the earlier clamor of clinking cups and frothy steaming hisses quieting down. September's dusk cast a soft, golden glow through the expansive glass windows, illuminating the café with a warm light that wrapped around Aliya and Thema as they tidied up. They moved rhythmically, wiping down counters with synchronized swipes and clicking off the espresso machines, each click echoing slightly in the now tranquil space.

"Looks like your ride's here," Thema said, her voice low and teasing, echoing slightly in the now-empty shop.

Outside, under the fading daylight, sat a polished Honda Accord, its blue surface gleaming under the streetlights just beginning to flicker on. Dylan, leaning casually against the car with his arms crossed, checked his watch and then looked up, giving a small, patient wave when he caught sight of Aliya peering through the window.

Aliya's face lit up for a moment, her cheeks warming with a soft blush. Then, as if remembering she was still at work, her expression softened into a more composed smile. Aliya responded with a nervous laugh, quickly wiping her hands on her stained apron. "Do I look okay? This seems silly, right? Going on a date right after a shift... I must look a mess," she fretted, her voice tinged with a mix of excitement and self-doubt.

Thema, rolling her eyes playfully, pushed off from the counter and straightened her own apron with a flourish. "Girl, you look stunning, and he's seen you like this dozens of times. It's you he's here for, not some dolled-up version of you," she assured her, her voice firm yet kind.

Encouraged, Aliya peeled off her apron, revealing her chosen outfit beneath: a high-waisted, button-front denim skirt paired with a simple black top that offset her lightly tanned skin. She tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear, her fingers trembling slightly—a stark contrast to the expert way she handled the steaming pitchers and coffee cups all day.

With a smile that was both thankful and tentative, Aliya moved towards the door. "Thanks, Thema. I... I hope this goes well," she murmured, more to herself than to her friend.

"Just enjoy yourself!" Thema called after her, her voice buoyant. She gave a little wave, her gesture dismissing any remaining worries.

Aliya's steps were hesitant at first as she approached the café's entrance, but they soon quickened with a burgeoning excitement. The sound of her shoes clacked rhythmically against the wooden floor, a staccato beat that matched her rising heartbeat. As she reached for the door, the bell above it chimed—a bright, cheerful sound that seemed to sing of new beginnings.

Stepping out into the evening, the cool air brushed against her face, crisp and invigorating. Dylan pushed away from the car and greeted her with a warm, inviting smile that reached his eyes, making them crinkle at the corners.

"Hey," he said, his voice smooth like the jazz tunes that often played in the background of their workplace. His stance was easy, hands tucked into the pockets of his jeans as if to show he was in no rush, that he was there for whatever pace she set.

Aliya's heart skipped a beat, her previous apprehensions melting into a flutter of anticipation. "Hi, Dylan," she replied, her voice softer than she intended, carried away by the gentle evening breeze. Her smile was shy but genuine as she closed the distance between them, her footsteps echoing on the pavement.

As Dylan opened the passenger door for her, Aliya paused, turning to glance back at the café where the lights were now dimming. She slid into the seat, feeling the leather cushion her. He closed the door gently before rounding the front of the car to take his place behind the wheel.

As the engine roared to life, a song played softly on the radio. The seductive strains of "In for it" by Tory Lanez filled the car, the lyrics heavy with longing and desire. Dylan shot her a glance, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "I can change it if you want," he offered, his hand hovering over the controls.

Aliya laughed, the sound light and melodious, breaking the tension that had been building. "No, it's fine," she said, though the heat in her cheeks betrayed her amusement and embarrassment.

The music played on. Dylan's fingers tapped rhythmically on the steering wheel as they pulled out onto the road. The night was dark, the streetlights casting a golden glow over their path.

They didn't need words; the charged silence between them was enough. Aliya felt his eyes on her every now and then, lingering just a fraction longer than necessary. She could see his profile, the strong line of his jaw, the curve of his lips as they twitched in a half-smile.

The song switched to "Cola" by Lana del Rey, the melody sultry and provocative. Aliya felt a shiver run down her spine, her skin tingling with awareness. Dylan chuckled softly, his laughter a low rumble that sent another thrill through her.

"Seriously?" she teased, raising an eyebrow.

Dylan's blush was unmistakable, even in the dim light. He fumbled with the radio, turning it off abruptly. "Sorry about that," he said, his voice a little rougher, the color high on his cheeks.

Aliya couldn't help but laugh again, her own nerves dissolving in the face of his obvious embarrassment. "It's okay, really," she reassured him, reaching out to touch his arm lightly. The contact was brief, but it sent sparks flying between them.

The rest of the ride was filled with a charged silence, the kind where every glance felt like a caress, every accidental touch like a promise. Aliya could feel the tension thrumming in the air, a sweet, tantalizing pull that made her pulse race.

Dylan stopped his car in front of his small house. It was a modest, one-story place with a grey roof, white walls, and a brown door. Flower pots lined the porch, adding a splash of color to the otherwise simple exterior. The September evening air was crisp, and the scent of fallen leaves filled the air.

He turned off the engine and glanced over at Aliya, who was sitting next to him. She smiled warmly, her eyes reflecting the soft light from the streetlamp.

"Here we are," Dylan said, extending his hand to her.

Aliya took his hand, her grip warm and reassuring. They walked up the short path to the front door. Dylan fumbled with his keys for a moment, the slight tremor in his hand betraying his nervousness. He glanced at Aliya, who gave him an encouraging nod.

"It's a bit cold inside," he warned as he opened the door. "I live alone, so..."

"But it feels like home," Aliya interrupted, squeezing his hand. "It's lovely, Dylan."

Inside, the house was modest but cozy. The living room had a worn but comfortable sofa, a wooden coffee table with a few books and papers scattered on it, and a small fireplace that hadn't been used in a while. As she glanced at the wall, her eyes took in a series of framed pictures. One featured an older woman who looked strikingly like Dylan—probably his mother. In another, a young Dylan, no older than four, wore oversized glasses and clutched a file while standing with his parents. There were more photos, too: Dylan in a school uniform, grinning with missing front teeth; a family vacation shot by the beach, everyone laughing as the wind tousled their hair; and a formal family portrait, all dressed in their finest.

Dylan watched Aliya as she looked around, taking in the details of his home. She seemed to fit right in, her presence bringing a new warmth to the space. He could see the admiration in her eyes as she noticed his books and sketches.

Dylan glanced over at Aliya and said, "Hey, why don't we get something to drink?" His voice was warm, but there was a slight edge of nervousness in it. Aliya nodded, following him into the kitchen, her fingers brushing lightly against the doorframe as she leaned against it. The kitchen was bathed in the soft glow of pendant lights, casting cozy shadows around them.

"Tea or Coke?" Dylan asked, opening the refrigerator. His face was earnest, eyebrows slightly raised, a hopeful smile playing on his lips.

Dylan closed the fridge, the soft thud echoing in the quiet room. "Are you sure? Maybe something to snack on? We have some cheese and crackers," he offered, his tone gentle and inviting.

Aliya hesitated, biting her lip. "Do you need a hand with anything?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper, her eyes finally meeting his.

Dylan shook his head, his expression reassuring. "No, I've got it. Why don't you sit down?" He gestured toward one of the chairs at the small kitchen table. Aliya took a seat, the wood cool and smooth beneath her fingertips. She glanced around, noticing the neatly arranged spices on the counter and the soft hum of the refrigerator. The scent of garlic and herbs lingered in the air from earlier cooking.

"I could go for some wine," she suggested, a hint of a smirk lifting the corner of her mouth. "You promised you had some."

Dylan's eyes lit up. "Ah, yes, the wine. Give me a moment." He reached up to a cabinet and pulled out a bottle of red wine, the label elegantly simple. He poured them each a glass, the rich, deep color reflecting the soft light. Handing her a glass. "Cheers to that," he said, pouring them each a glass. "So, let's do twenty questions. Favorite movie?"

Aliya took a sip of the wine, feeling its warmth spread through her. "Hmm, that's a tough one. I think I'd have to say The Pursuit of Happiness. It always inspires me," she said, her eyes brightening.

Dylan nodded appreciatively. "That's a great choice. Will Smith is amazing in that."

Aliya smiled, then glanced at him curiously. "What's yours?"

"The Lord of the Rings trilogy. Hands down," Dylan replied, a nostalgic look crossing his face.

Aliya's eyes widened slightly. "You know, I've never actually seen those movies," she confessed, a slight blush tinging her cheeks.

Dylan's jaw dropped in mock horror. "Seriously? How have you missed out on that?"

Aliya shrugged, laughing softly. "It's not that popular among the middle class in India," she explained, her fingers tracing the rim of her glass. "I was always too busy with strict school schedules, studying, and classical singing classes."

Dylan nodded thoughtfully. "Well, tonight's the night," he said, his smile broadening. "We'll watch it together while we eat."

...............................

Dylan and Aliya quickly finished their meal, the clinking of silverware and soft hum of the dishwasher adding a cozy domestic rhythm to the evening. With a fresh glass of wine in hand and a tub of ice cream cradled between them, they moved to the living room. The aroma of the wine mingled with the faint scent of vanilla from the ice cream, creating a comforting blend.

As they settled onto the couch, Dylan claimed one end, stretching out with a relaxed sigh, while Aliya nestled into the other corner, a cushion and the tub of ice cream bridging the space between them. The soft glow of the table lamp cast a warm light over the room, highlighting scattered papers and a few open books on the coffee table. The ink on the pages gleamed, the words forming delicate patterns like a tapestry of untold stories.

Aliya's eyes sparkled with a mix of curiosity and delight as she picked up one of the sheets. Her fingers traced the edges lightly, almost reverently. She glanced at Dylan, who was watching her with a gentle, encouraging smile.

"Read it if you want to," Dylan said, his voice a soothing invitation.

Aliya nodded, clearing her throat.

I want to feel your eyes all over me,

Tracing the contours of my body.

Imagine feeling my skin with your mind,

Craving your gaze, so gentle and so wild.

I crave the way your eyes follow my flow,

Longing for your gaze to dance and glow.

So keep looking, Honey,

Let your eyes devour every part of me.

Dylan watched her, his heart racing, captivated by how sensuously she spoke each word, her lips shaping them perfectly.

The room seemed to shrink, filled with a tense energy. Dylan felt an urge to touch her lips, to feel her breath. When their eyes met, she asked softly, "Is this poem about me? Because I can't stop looking at you."

Suddenly, Dylan moved closer, driven by a deep need he couldn't explain. He tried to kiss her simply, meaningfully, but it was clumsy, his lips awkwardly meeting hers. The kiss was uncertain, like a shaky first step.

Butthen, Aliya's hands gently cupped Dylan's face, pulling him back for anotherkiss. This time, it was deeper, more certain. Dylan let out a soft groan, thesound vibrating through Aliya and sending a delicious shiver down her spine.She tilted her head slightly, deepening the kiss further, her fingers threadingthrough his hair.