part 22 : a melody she's heard before

Fiona lingered for a second too long

His smile remained, calm and unwavering

but she quickly looked away, pretending to

watch the birds pecking breadcrumbs

nearby

This feeling... it was dangerous

The way her heart fluttered--no. She'd felt

this before. With eyes that burned like fire,

and hands that promised forever and gave

her chaos.

She wasn't faling again. Not this soon. Not

this easily

He stood, slinging the cello case over his

back with practiced ease. "You look like

someone who carries a storm behind her

eyes," he said, casually, not expecting a

response.

She raised an eyebrow. "And you look like

someone who's read too much poetry.

He laughed, low and warm. "Touch é."

Fiona turned to walk away, heart

nammering, mind screaming not to turn

back.

But he called out, "If you ever want to hear

that cello in a quiet place, the bookstore on

the hill has an open terrace. I play there

every Friday. No crowd. Just music.

She paused but didn't look back. "Thanks."

Then she kept walking

Her shoulders were tense. Her steps

uncertain.

She hated how his voice still echoed in her

mind.

Because part of her did want to hear him

again.

But another part-the part still mending-

wanted to make him work for it.

Let him chase, she thought. Let him try.