Then life, uninvited, tapped the mic.
His project deadline moved up - night emails, early calls. Her sister needed help with a move; boxes, bubble wrap, a lost set of keys. He canceled dinner once, then twice. She told herself it was fine while retyping a message she never sent.
In the gaps, they left each other small, sturdy things.
He dropped a cappuccino at her door with a note: For your 9 a.m. thunder.
She tucked a fresh basil sprig into his jacket pocket with a text: This one's tougher than it looks. Like you.
He set an alarm that read, Tell her something true, and when it chimed he called just to say he missed the way she narrates her coffee order like a sportscaster.
Yet the rhythm shifted. Their song didn't stop - but it stuttered.
One night, she waited at the café - their café - watching rain smear the streetlights. Ten minutes became twenty. She sent a "Still good?" and sat with the dots bubbling and then disappearing.
He arrived almost an hour late, breathless, apologies tumbling out of him. "The call - my boss - time got away - "
"I know," she said, too quickly. "It's okay."
But the okay was off-key. He heard it.
They tried to start the music again, but the melody wouldn't settle. Their hands found each other, then slipped. She laughed at his joke half a beat too late. He told a story without the middle, already thinking of the next email.
When they finally stepped back into the rain, he reached for her and missed her fingers, catching only the wet air.
She looked up, rain glittering on her lashes. "I don't want to be a soft place you land when the world's done with you," she said, gentle, not accusing. "I want to be in your world."
He swallowed. Lightning stitched the sky in the distance. "You are."
"Then let me hear where you live in it."
They stood there, both understanding and not, as the downpour stitched a curtain between the street and the two of them. Somewhere, a siren wailed; somewhere, a door closed. The song inside them didn't stop. It merely waited - hands poised above keys - for the next true note.