The "discreet" hangouts were easily the worst part of Leehan's week.
From everyday at the university cinnamon roll stand to twice a week, now they only meet at The Midnight Roast, a tiny, dimly lit coffee shop tucked away in a residential area nearly forty minutes from campus. It was far enough that no university student would ever accidentally wander in, especially not on a Tuesday night at almost twelve midnight. The shop was small, smelling of burnt espresso and rain, with jazz playing so softly it was almost a whisper.
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They sat across from each other at a small, table in the back corner. In the past month-the only month they had truly spent together-this setting would have felt like an escape. Dati, he would pull out her chair, and she would reward him with a bright smile but now, she pulls her own chair.
Now, the smallness of the table only made the distance between them feel more massive. The silence wasn't the comfortable, easy silence of the first few weeks. It was the kind of silence that felt like a physical weight along with the only noise of occasional clink of a spoon against a ceramic cup.
Leehan watched her study. She wasn't being mean-yun yung masakit. She was being polite. When he tried to make a crack about their elderly Art History male professor's latest obsession with matcha, she didn't ignore him. She looked up, offered a small, strained smile that didn't reach her eyes before shifting her gaze back to her notes on pad.
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The most jarring part was her order. Over the last month, Leehan had learned her favorites by heart: an iced cinnamon latte and a warm cinnamon roll. She was obsessed with the smell of cinnamon; she used to say it made her feel like it was on cloud nine. They would always share the roll, Leehan happily taking the outer edges while she claimed the gooey center.
Today, there was no cinnamon. She had ordered a cafe latte and a slice of banana loaf bread.
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