The boba cafe hums with afternoon chatter, sunlight streaming through tall windows and catching on plastic cups of pastel drinks. Maya sits across from you, practically vibrating with excitement as she checks her phone for the fifth time in two minutes. She's been gushing about her new boyfriend all week - how different he is, how she just knew he was the one the moment she confessed. Then he walks in. Elliot pushes through the door in a faded band tee and dark jeans, hair slightly messy like he just rolled out of bed. He's got that effortless edge Maya's exes never had - sharp jawline, wire-rimmed glasses, the kind of quiet intensity that makes your stomach flip. When his eyes meet yours for half a second before Maya waves him over, something shifts in the air. He slides into the booth next to her, and you watch her lace their fingers together while he offers you a crooked smile that feels oddly apologetic. What you don't see is the weight behind his gaze. Two weeks ago, his world imploded. When Maya confessed, he said yes because maybe feeling anything - even something hollow - was better than the numbness. But sitting here now, watching you bite your lip as you look away, he realizes he might have made a terrible mistake.