Chapter Six – A Habit I Didn’t Mean to Keep

Ethan

It started as an accident.

The first time I walked into that supermarket, I wasn't looking for anything specific. Just something to do—an excuse to get out of my apartment, stretch my legs, clear my head.

I was in the candy aisle when I heard her laugh.

I hadn't even seen her yet, but for some reason, I remember that moment—how the sound cut through the usual hum of grocery store chatter, standing out in a way I couldn't ignore. It wasn't loud or forced, just this quiet, amused thing, like she had heard something genuinely funny and wasn't trying to hold it back.

And when I turned the corner and saw her, I understood why it stuck with me.

She was talking to a coworker, leaning slightly against the register, smiling as she bagged someone's groceries. I didn't know her name then, but something about her presence made me pause.

And before I knew it, I was grabbing a lollipop.

I didn't even like candy that much. It was just the first thing I saw, something small enough that I wouldn't feel weird buying it for no reason.

That first time, I told myself it was a one-off thing.

But then I went back.

Again. And again.

At first, I convinced myself it was the routine I liked. The predictability. A brief, harmless interaction in a life that didn't have much stability. But eventually, I stopped lying to myself.

It wasn't the routine.

It was her.

~~~~

Chapter Seven – The Distraction I Didn't See Coming

Ethan

I didn't expect to see her there.

When I walked into the coffee shop, I was just planning to grab a drink and leave. I had things to do—emails to respond to, work that I was already behind on—but then I saw her.

Lily.

Sitting at my table.

Not that it actually belonged to me or anything, but I always sat there when I came to this café. It had the best lighting, the least amount of foot traffic, and it was just far enough from the counter that I didn't feel like I was in anyone's way.

And yet, somehow, she had found it.

She didn't see me at first. She was staring at her laptop screen, brow furrowed in that way people do when they're trying really hard to focus. A nearly full coffee sat next to her, untouched, and one of her feet bounced slightly under the table.

I don't know how long I stood there watching her, debating whether I should say something.

But then, before I could overthink it, the words were already leaving my mouth.

"You're in my spot."

Her head snapped up, eyes locking onto mine.

For a second, I thought she might tell me to leave her alone. Maybe roll her eyes and ignore me until I got the hint.

Instead, she tilted her head, raising a skeptical eyebrow. "Excuse me?"

I smirked. "I usually sit here."

She scoffed, glancing around the café. "There are, like, fifteen other tables."

"But this one's the best."

I half expected her to argue. Maybe tell me to find another place, remind me that she got here first.

But instead, she just shook her head, exhaling like I was some kind of impossible puzzle she didn't have the energy to solve.

"Well, sorry to disappoint, but I got here first."

I sighed, making a show of considering my options. Then, without waiting for permission, I pulled out the chair across from her and sat down.

She stared at me. "What are you doing?"

I shrugged. "Finding a new spot."

She let out a laugh—short, disbelieving. "Unbelievable."

And just like that, I was hooked.

Because seeing Lily behind the register was one thing. There, she was all polite smiles and quick comebacks, balancing customer service with just enough sarcasm to keep me entertained.

But here?

Here, she was different.

Relaxed. More herself.

She was wearing an oversized hoodie, her hair pulled into a loose bun, a pencil tucked behind her ear like she'd forgotten it was there. There was something so effortless about the way she carried herself—like she belonged in this space, even with me suddenly taking up half of it.

And for the first time since this whole thing started, I found myself wondering what her life looked like outside of those brief moments at the store.

Did she always study at cafés? Did she have a favorite drink? What was she working on that had her so focused?

I wanted to ask.

But I didn't.

Instead, I just sipped my coffee, watching as she tried (and failed) to pretend I wasn't distracting her.

And even though I had no real reason to stay, I didn't move.

Because right then, sitting across from her in some random coffee shop, I realized something.

I wasn't just in the habit of showing up at her register.

I was in the habit of wanting to be around her.

~~~~~

Now, I'm sitting on a park bench, twirling a lollipop between my fingers.

Cherry, this time.

Old habits, I guess.

The park isn't far from the coffee shop where I ran into her earlier, but I needed the fresh air before heading home. My phone buzzes in my pocket—probably another work email I don't feel like answering—but I ignore it, leaning back against the bench.

The sky is fading into early evening, the air crisp but not too cold. A few people jog past, a couple walks by with their dog, but mostly, it's quiet.

Peaceful.

I exhale, rolling the lollipop between my palms.

I should probably stop.

Going to the store every day, turning a random moment into a habit that isn't so random anymore. I don't even know what I'm doing—why I keep finding excuses to see her.

But then I think about the way she narrowed her eyes at me when I bought the wrong flavor. The way she stood her ground at the café, refusing to give up her seat. The way she called me a menace like it was both an accusation and a challenge.

And just like that, I know I'm not stopping anytime soon.