Under the Spotlight

ndoubtedly one of those days. Caleb had sent a message the previous night-an unplanned invitation to lunch at a quaint café he claimed I would adore. His words flowed effortlessly, light

nely connected and even longer since I had managed to dispel the guilt that clung to me after our last discussion. I reassured myself it would be alright-that we were merely two in

ich permitted me time to sit and observe people strolling past, absorbed in their own realities. The café was diminutive and charming, nestled away from the typical chaos of the city. It possessed a certain allure, featuring mismatched seating and a coffee bar exuding the aroma of freshly ground beans. I appreciated spaces like this. Tranquil. Secure. They enabled me to reflect without interruption. As I rose to greet

ad somehow sensed that I remained uncertain about him. We ordered coffee and Caleb commenced discussing the film he had just completed; his voice transitioned into autopilot as he shared snippets of the production. But it was not the typical detached delivery he employed when talking about work. His eyes were not distant and the tales were not forced. There was a sincerity present-one that I had not anticipated encountering in s

g how to be, what to wear and what to say. It's a lot." I found myself at a loss for words. This was the first instance in which I'd heard him articulate his career with any semblance of vulnerability. I had perused the photos, the interviews and the articles detailing his latest film release. However, none of that had adequately prepared me for this-a man who was evidently weary of meeting expectations he never solicited.

nse a shift in the atmosphere, a transition toward something more personal, something genuine. "Well," I began, hesitating to articulate my thoughts. "I suppose it's somewhat of a lengthy tale. But, to summarize, I've always had a profound love for books. I spent my childhood devouring everything I could find and I yearned for a

an to realize that I no longer wished to merely go through the motions. I desired something deeper. A silence enveloped us, the kind that arises when two individuals are contemplating the same thought, yet not articulating it aloud. But unlike previous instances, this silence felt anything but uncomfortable. It felt organic. It was as if we were both attempting t

n't wish to let this opportunity slip away, especially when it felt as though something authentic was finally within reach. "I think I'd like that," I murmured softly, my voice barely a whisper. "I believe we could both benefit from a little less