Notes Between Seasons

Anya blinked, taken aback by the unexpected question. "Why are you asking when I'm free?" she asked, her tone feigning innocence, but her voice came out softer than she intended.

Elias met her eyes with an amused tilt of his head, his gaze unwavering. "To meet you," he said plainly, as if it were the simplest, most obvious answer in the world. No games. No hesitation.

She froze, not expecting such directness. Her heartbeat stuttered, caught between anticipation and fear. "But… we'll probably run into each other at the restaurant," she said, attempting a shrug, though it felt stiff and awkward. "So, what's the point?"

Her words hung in the air, a transparent shield masking something far more vulnerable underneath. She wasn't confused. She wasn't naïve. She just didn't know how to accept something that felt too close to wanting.

Elias didn't flinch. Instead, he took a small breath and studied her, quiet for a second longer than was comfortable. His expression softened, yet his voice held its clarity. "I didn't mean bumping into each other while you're carrying trays and I'm having a quick meeting over espresso. I meant… a real moment. Not a rushed one. Not a professional one. Just you and me."

His words struck a chord in her, low and deep.

But she still looked away, clutching at the fragile edge of her wall. "I don't really do that sort of thing…" she muttered, knowing full well that wasn't true.

He chuckled under his breath just a low exhale that felt more like understanding than mockery. "That's okay," he said finally, a small smile tugging at his lips. "If you don't like the idea, it's fine. No hard feelings."

And just like that, the conversation turned. He didn't pressure her. Didn't push. But the warmth in his eyes dimmed, just slightly. Enough for her to notice. Enough for her to feel the sting of losing something she hadn't even let herself want.

It was deflection. Even she knew that. But she stuck to it clinging to it like a shield acted like she didn't understand, like the idea of seeing him outside of work meant nothing. Like her heart hadn't skipped a beat the moment he said "To meet you."

But it had.

Elias gave her a quiet, unreadable look. The kind that lingered. The kind that saw through masks. Then came the half-smile—soft, steady, disarmingly kind. "If you don't like the idea, it's fine. No hard feelings."

Something in his calmness, in the way he didn't flinch or chase her for an answer, stirred a flicker of panic inside her. No hard feelings? Just like that?

She'd expected, hoped, even for him to push a little more. To make her drop the act. But instead, he let go with grace. That hurt more than if he'd gotten upset. Because his quiet acceptance meant he believed her lie.

And yet, the heat crawling up her spine wasn't triumph. It was regret. Thick and unexpected. Her pulse thudded with it.

Why had she done that? Why was she acting like this? She wanted him to notice her. She liked the way his gaze lingered, how his voice softened when he spoke only to her. She loved the attention even if it terrified her.

But now it felt like she'd just thrown a stone into still water… and was too scared to dive in after it.

She said nothing, only nodded, her throat too tight to form a proper goodbye. Elias lingered for a second more, then stepped back, offering a faint "Good night" before heading toward his car. The sound of his footsteps fading into the night echoed louder in her chest than she'd ever admit.

As he walked away, Elias exhaled through his nose, low and frustrated. "So many guards, this girl… damn," he muttered, dragging a hand through his hair. There was something about her a quiet fire beneath all that restraint. A part of him admired it, respected it even. But another part wanted to shatter right through it, just to get to the version of her that wasn't afraid to feel.

Meanwhile, back in her small apartment, Anya curled up beneath the thin blanket, the moonlight streaking pale across her walls. Sleep danced out of reach. She tossed and turned, her body still, but her thoughts running wild.

The moment replayed endlessly his voice, his eyes, that gentle invitation. And her own words… deflecting, dodging, pushing him away like he hadn't made her heart leap just by saying he wanted to see her.

Why had she done that?

Because it's safer to push away than risk wanting something too much.

But it didn't feel safe now. It felt hollow. She didn't feel protected she felt alone. That faint smile he gave her, so polite, so understanding it broke her. Because it was the kind of smile you give when you're giving up on something. On someone.

She buried her face into the pillow, shame burning beneath her skin. She'd shut the door he had so gently opened. She'd ruined something that had barely begun. And now, all she had was the echo of his voice in the quiet night… and the ache of regret pressed deep in her chest.

Friday came too soon. Her usual shift began at 4, running until 10 p.m. The restaurant buzzed with the vibrant pulse of the weekend chatter, clinking glasses, and the rhythmic rush of footsteps across the floor but Anya's thoughts were far removed from the orders she was scribbling or the dishes she was serving.

As she walked in and caught sight of Elias standing near Kristina, deep in conversation, her breath caught like a snag in her chest. He looked calm, composed, as always leaning slightly on the counter, one hand tucked into his pocket, the other gesturing gently as he spoke.

Kristina noticed Anya and smiled, a quick wave of acknowledgment. Elias didn't.

Not even a flicker of recognition.

No teasing glance.

No warm smile.

Not even a polite nod.

It was like she wasn't there.

Her heart sank, the weight of his dismissal heavier than she'd expected. Every moment of the evening seemed to echo with the silence between them. She tried to keep busy, her hands moving through the motions clearing tables, taking orders, refilling glasses but her mind reeled in circles. Had she really pushed him that far away?

Elias, meanwhile, was executing a quiet plan.

He had woken up that morning already knowing she would be there her shifts were regular, predictable. He knew this about her. And he had made up his mind. If she wanted distance, if she wanted to pretend that what passed between them meant nothing, then so be it.

Let her taste her own medicine.

So he said nothing.

Not out of cruelty, but out of principle.

To see what she'd do.

To see if the walls she built so quickly were as strong as she believed.

He watched from the corner of his eye subtle, careful. He saw her smile falter, caught the way her shoulders slumped just a little more with each passing hour.

She wasn't fine.

And part of him ached to reach out. But he stayed the course. He wanted her to come to him not out of guilt, but because she chose to.

.....

That morning, Elias had woken up earlier than usual, his mind already alert and sharp though not with numbers, not with strategy. With her. Anya. He knew her schedule by now. Knew that Fridays meant a longer shift. Knew she'd walk through the restaurant doors sometime around 3:50 p.m., her hair tied up neatly, apron already half-fastened as she greeted everyone with that soft but certain presence.

But today, Elias had no intention of being soft.

Two could play her game. If she wanted to act like nothing mattered, like the moments they shared in the car and the subtle tension in their glances were fleeting illusions, he'd match her tone. Or better yet outplay it. He didn't intend to be cruel. But he did want her to feel the distance she'd insisted on. He wanted to see what she'd do without his attention.

And so, when Anya arrived only two minutes later than expected, a little flushed from walking fast he remained exactly where he was, chatting with Kristina near the host stand. He didn't flinch. Didn't look up. Didn't let the way her presence shifted the air around him betray his resolve.

Still, from the corner of his eye, he saw it.

She faltered. Just for a second. A pause in her step. Her hand adjusting the strap of her apron slowed. The subtle catch in her expression when her eyes scanned over him and didn't find his. The way she quickly looked away, as though pretending she hadn't been hoping for the opposite.

He kept his voice calm, his smile measured as Kristina laughed at something he'd said. But inwardly, he noted every movement of Anya's how she walked past without a glance, how her spine straightened defensively, as if to say, "I don't care."

But by mid-shift, the cracks in her act were showing.

Usually, Anya moved with a kind of flowing grace an efficient rhythm that turned trays and plates into something almost artful. But today, her hands were slower, her posture just slightly weighed down. She wasn't smiling at tables. Her laughter normally quiet but contagious was absent.

Then came the moment at the bar.

Elias, while appearing absorbed in a casual walk-through of the floor, lingered within sight. He watched as a younger waiter, Luke, maybe? leaned in and said something to Anya. A joke, perhaps, or a question. Elias caught the motion of the boy's hand gesturing toward the staff door, maybe suggesting a break.

Anya didn't even look up properly. She shook her head quickly, her ponytail swaying slightly with the motion. Her arms folded in front of her, protective. Her lips were pressed together so tightly they'd lost their usual softness.

Her eyes were down. Her mind wasn't there.

And Elias knew exactly where it was.

He turned away before the boy could walk off, before Kristina could catch him watching. His jaw was tight, hands tucked into his pockets. He had succeeded in pulling away, yes. But as he walked toward the office again, he couldn't shake the weight of what he'd seen:

She was hurting.

And she was trying not to let it show.

...

Back on Anya's side, the shift dragged endlessly.

Each tick of the clock felt like it took twice as long. Every plate she carried, every order she took, was done on autopilot. Her mind refused to stay grounded. It was stuck in the space between what could have been and what was now.

Why is he ignoring me?

Why does it hurt so much?

Why did I act like that?

She hated it hated how much space Elias occupied in her thoughts. Hated that a single glance, or lack of it, could twist her mood into knots. But more than anything, she hated that she'd pushed him away… and now didn't know how to pull him back.

Max, who had always been casually observant from the kitchen, noticed. During a lull, he leaned across the pass-through counter, his voice gentle but clear.

"You okay?"

She blinked, momentarily jolted out of her spiraling thoughts. "Huh?"

"You don't look well. You're not yourself tonight."

Anya managed a smile that didn't reach her eyes and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "Yeah, Max. Just didn't sleep well last night, that's all."

He nodded, though his eyes lingered a second longer, like he didn't quite believe her. She didn't blame him. She didn't believe herself either.

When her shift finally ended at 10:10, she dragged herself into the back room, untied her apron with fingers that trembled slightly from fatigue and something deeper regret. The minute she stepped outside, a gust of brisk night air met her. It cooled her flushed skin, but did nothing to quiet the ache in her chest.

Her legs protested with every step, already worn out from hours on her feet. The walk to the train station stretched ahead of her like a punishment thirty minutes at best, with sore ankles and a tired soul.

But she began to walk anyway.

Step by step.

Hoping the cold air would clear her head. Hoping the silence would muffle the weight in her heart.

A tiny sliver of hope clung to her the foolish kind. That maybe, just maybe, Elias would call out to her. That he'd offer her a ride again, like he did last Sunday. That something in his voice or eyes would say he hadn't let go yet.

But as she reached the edge of the staff exit, she saw him.

He was a few steps ahead, walking past her while talking on the phone, voice low, expression unreadable. He didn't even glance her way. Didn't pause. Didn't look.

Her heart clenched. She stood there, frozen for a breath too long, as he disappeared into the car park.

Her chest rose sharply as tears welled in her eyes, blurring the streetlights around her. She blinked them back hard, unwilling to let them fall where anyone might see.

The distance between them wasn't just physical now it felt like a chasm. And this time, she wasn't sure if it could be crossed.