Alya stepped off the plane, her feet kissing the familiar yet foreign ground of her hometown. The city was the same: the same tall buildings, the same rush of cars, and the same familiar faces. But for Alya, it was no longer the city she once knew. It felt distant now, like a memory half-forgotten, tainted by the years of absence.
She had spent the last five years studying abroad in London, trying to forget. Trying to leave behind the love she once had—the love that left her broken.
His name echoed in her mind as she made her way through the crowded terminal: Evan. His name had once felt like music to her, each syllable a soft, sweet melody that resonated deep within her heart. But now? Now, his name was a phantom, a ghost that haunted her dreams and whispered through the empty spaces of her soul.
The silence between them had been deafening when he disappeared, leaving only questions in his wake.
Why hadn't he said goodbye? Where had he gone? Was it something she had done?
She shook the thoughts away. I'm here to start over, she told herself.
As she stepped into the warm embrace of the summer air, Alya tried to focus on the present. The city had changed in the five years she'd been gone, but there was one place that remained the same: Café Lumière, the cozy little café where she and Evan had spent hours, lost in each other's company. It was the kind of place where time seemed to slow down, where love felt eternal.
Her heart raced as she made her way there, and when she pushed open the door, a flood of memories rushed back. The small wooden tables. The smell of freshly brewed coffee. The soft jazz music playing in the background. She could almost hear Evan's voice, teasing her about her inability to order anything other than a cappuccino.
But as her eyes scanned the room, she froze.
There, sitting at the corner table, was a man with a guitar case resting by his side, his back turned to her. The moment she heard him speak, her heart skipped a beat.
"Can I get another cappuccino?" The voice was deep, yet unmistakably familiar.
Alya felt a chill run down her spine. That voice... it couldn't be.
She didn't know what possessed her to walk toward him, but before she could stop herself, she found herself standing in front of his table.
"Excuse me," she whispered.
The man turned around, and her breath caught in her throat.
He wasn't Evan.
But there was something about him—something in his eyes, in the way he looked at her—that made her heart ache. There was a quiet intensity in his gaze, something mysterious, like a secret he was keeping.
"Can I help you?" he asked, a faint smile on his lips.
"I—I thought I heard... someone else," she stammered, her words tangled in her throat.
"Ah," he said, nodding thoughtfully. "You must have heard my voice. It tends to linger. I get that a lot."
Alya blinked, unsure of what to say. She wanted to run. She wanted to escape from the overwhelming mix of emotions swirling inside her. But she couldn't. Something about him drew her in.
"My name is Orlando," he continued, extending his hand. "And you are?"
"Alya," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Nice to meet you, Alya," he said with a smile. "Would you like to join me? It's a bit lonely here today."
Alya hesitated. Part of her wanted to leave, but another part of her felt strangely connected to this man, this Orlando. She couldn't explain it. It wasn't love at first sight—no, it was something more subtle, more like an echo of something she had lost.
"Sure," she said, taking a seat across from him.
Orlando didn't seem to notice her discomfort. He began talking about the city, about the music scene, about life in general. His voice was soothing, like a calm melody that helped her breathe a little easier. And for the first time in years, Alya felt like she could relax. She laughed at his jokes. She found herself listening intently as he spoke.
But in the back of her mind, there was a question that lingered, unanswered.
Why did his presence feel so familiar?