#selhd

FT. @selhd

zoe is mid-iced americano, mid-eye roll at her phone, and mid-deciding if she hates everyone today when the café shifts. not loudly. not obviously. just enough that conversations thin, like someone turned the volume down out of respect. zoe doesn't look up right away. she's learned the difference between attention-seeking noise and presence.

when she does glance over, it clicks. selene stands near the counter like the space was reserved for her. sunglasses still on indoors - not apologetic about it. there's a subtle choreography happening around her, people hesitating, recalibrating, pretending not to stare. zoe clocks the details automatically: the posture, the polish, the way money sits differently on someone who’s never had to explain it.

interesting.

their paths cross when the barista calls a name too softly. zoe steps forward at the same time, shoulders nearly brushing. she adjusts without flinching, cup steady in her hand. "oh—" she says, then stops herself, lips pull back into a polite sneer. "sorry. i think the universe wanted us to almost collide." she finally looks at selene, gaze open, curious, but not impressed. there's a moment where she considers saying nothing at all. instead— "you're selene, right?" not a question that begs. they both already know the answer.

there  was  something  profoundly  romantic  about  the  quiet  synergy  of  reading  a  physical  book  within  the  hallowed  halls  of  a  library.  the  weight  of  the  novel  in  his  hands,  the  faint,  dry  scent  of  printed  paper,  the  soft  rustles  whenever  he  would  turn  a  page;  these  were  all  tactile  sensations  that  his  e-reader,  for  all  its  undeniable  convenience  and  efficiency,  could  not  replicate.  and  today,  the  specific  and  almost  archaic  charm  of  being  surrounded  by  towering  shelves  laden  with  information  and  tales  yet  to  be  ventured  called  out  to  him.  it  was  a  small  indulgence  that  typically  brought  significant  returns  of  investment  for  his  mental  well-being.

or  at  least,  it  usually  did.  he  now  realised  that  it  was  an  indulgence  he  should  have  considered  deferring  for  another  day.  the  silence  he  so  desired  was  now  being  systematically  challenged  by  persistent  whispers  from  a  not-really  stranger  that  he  had  seen  around  every  now  and  then,  though  had  not  really  engaged  in  much,  if  any  at  all,  conversation  with.  he  supposed  they  had  similar  circles  of  friends,  or  at  the  very  least  there  should  be  some  common  acquaintances  between  them.  however,  he  could  not  exactly  recall  who  these  points  of  contact  were  and  frankly,  he  had  no  interest  in  perusing  the  matter  any  further.

if  he  could,  he  would  have  preferred  not  to  engage  with  her  at  all.  however,  the  rising  tide  of  his  exasperation,  a  tight  coiling  in  his  gut  and  a  subtle  tension  settling  between  his  shoulder  blades,  warred  with  his  ingrained  politeness.  ignoring  her  entirely  would  have  been  rude,  a  breach  of  the  social  clauses  he  adhered  to  with  almost  religious  rigour.  but  repeatedly  acknowledging  her  would  only  encourage  further  expansion  upon  their  conversation,  and  haru  wanted  this  to  end  now.

eventually,  he  gave  her  a  sheepish  smile  and  a  pointed  nod  down  towards  the  opened  book  in  his  hands—reading  in  progress,  apologies  for  the  inconvenience—before  lifting  a  single  finger  to  his  lips  in  the  universal,  unambiguous  gesture  for  silence.