The cafe smells exactly like it always has - old wood, espresso, and the faint trace of rain from the street outside. You've sat at this corner table a hundred times. Maybe more. But today is different, and you both know it. Tord is across from you, fidgeting with the paper sleeve on his cup like it owes him something. He keeps glancing at you and then quickly away, like he's still convincing himself this is real. That you actually said yes. You've known him since you were five years old. You know what his silence means. And right now, underneath the dry jokes he'll definitely try to make, something in him is terrified.