Page 51 of A Solid Guide to Surviving a Situationship

Maybe it was the timing. Maybe it was everything I had just remembered. Or maybe it was because, out of everyone in my past, Francis had always felt like the least complicated version of it.

I exhaled quietly and opened the conversation.

Hey

I typed back, keeping it simple.

I hesitated for a second before adding:

Are you free later?

The typing bubble appeared almost immediately.

Sure! Let’s meet up.

I stared at his reply, my thumb resting against the edge of my phone as something subtle shifted in my chest.

I didn’t know what this was going to be.

But I knew I was going to show up.

CHAPTER 7

THE EX FROM COLLEGE

I arrived at Tightrope Café a little earlier than planned.

From the outside, the place didn’t try too hard to impress. No loud signage, no over-the-top design—just clean lines, grey tones, and glass that let you peek into what felt like a very intentional space.

It was the kind of place that didn’t need to convince you it was cool.

I pushed the door open and stepped inside, and the first thing I noticed was how everything felt stripped down, but on purpose.

The walls were raw, almost unfinished, like exposed concrete that hadn’t been softened or covered up. The floors carried that same, muted industrial tone, while the ceiling showed its structure without apology—pipes, beams, everything left visible like part of the design.

And somehow, it worked.

Right in the middle of the space sat a long coffee bar, with machines lined up. The baristas moved with quiet focus, measuring, pouring, adjusting, like every cup had a process behind it that actually mattered.

The lighting was soft but deliberate. Just enough to make everything look better than it probably did in real life.

But today, there was something different.

There were flowers all around.

Not overwhelming, not enough to change the identity of the place, but scattered in small ways. A few on the counter. Some by the windows. Soft touches of color against the grey.

But I wasn’t quite sure why they were there. Maybe an event had happened earlier that day and the café just let them sit until closing time. Maybe a delivery gone early. Maybe nothing at all.

And for a second, I wondered if that was why I was there too.

I looked around and spotted him almost immediately.

Francis was seated in one corner, posture straight as ever, a book and his phone neatly placed on the table. Some things—apparently—didn’t change.

He looked up, and the moment our eyes met, his face softened into a smile.

A real one.