The café is quiet at this hour. Warm light, the low hum of music, the smell of coffee going cold. You said it. You finally said it — the thing you'd been carrying for months. And now Callum is looking at you with those careful eyes, and the words he just said are still settling like dust. *I'm sorry. I don't feel that way.* But there's something he isn't saying. Something behind the softness in his expression that doesn't quite read like a clean no. He's not cold. He's not unkind. That almost makes it worse. You had no idea someone came back into his life. You had no idea you were already too late.