Suddenly, You ︱demitra kalogeras

meeting her

It was a normal day in New York—at least it looked like one. I was walking through the city like I usually did, music blasting in my ears, americano in hand, a book tucked into the back pocket of my jeans even though I rarely pulled it out anymore. The streets buzzed with their usual noise, taxis slicing through traffic, people walking fast like they had somewhere important to be. But something about the air felt different that morning. Sharper. Louder. Or maybe it was just me—too aware of the ache inside my chest to ignore it.

I've been living here for a while now. Long enough that the city's excitement had dulled into routine. I still remember when I first moved, barely eighteen, carrying nothing but an overcrowded suitcase and a dream that felt too big for my hands. Back then, everything seemed possible. I imagined myself writing novels in cramped apartments, recording music in makeshift studios, working poorly paid café shifts just to stay afloat. I was hungry for everything, desperate and hopeful in a way I didn't realize I'd miss.

Now it feels like everything is slipping through my fingers. Slowly, quietly. The kind of loss you only notice when it's already taken most of you.

I still work in a café, but I'm not a barista anymore. I'm the manager now, which looks better on paper than it feels. Sitting in an office, taking inventory, answering emails—none of it fits me the way writing once did. But the yearly salary fits. It fits in a way stability always does: heavy, comfortable, suffocating.

So I put on nice outfits and pretend I have my life together. I walk around Central Park on my days off, holding a book that I pretend to be absorbed in, when in reality most days I just sit with my thoughts, drowning in the same fear; that I failed before I even got the chance to try. That the artist I thought I had in me never made it out of the dream stage. 

What I do have is a job. An apartment in Brooklyn I've lived in since the day I arrived. And the life of someone who's lost interest in nearly everything she used to love.

Work was going surprisingly well today. It had been a quiet morning—rare for a weekday—so I was sitting in my tiny office pretending to look productive. Mostly staring at the same email draft I'd been ignoring for days. That was when Tara, one of the baristas, knocked on the door and poked her head in.

"There's a girl asking to speak with the manager," she said.

My first reaction was annoyance. Who asks for a manager at 10 a.m. on a calm Tuesday? Confusion crept over me as I walked out of the office, wiping my palms on my pants, preparing myself for a complaint about the WiFi or someone not liking the latte art on their drink.

But she wasn't that.

I was taken aback the moment I saw her. Gorgeous didn't even cover it. Something about her presence startled me—her confidence, the way she stood there like she already knew she belonged in the room. And her accent...  not New York, not from the States, something way warmer.

"Good morning, ma'am, is everything okay?" I asked.

"Yes, everything's okay. Are you the manager?" she replied, looking genuinely surprised.

"Yes ma'am, what did you need me for?" I kept my tone polite, professional, even though my brain was already scrambling.

"Wow, you look young to be the manager. How old are you?"

I blinked. Not the question I was expecting. I didn't know what direction she was going with that, but I answered anyway.

"Well, I'm 20, so I guess you could say so. Is there anything I can do for you?" I smiled at her, trying not to sound flustered.

"Yes, actually." She straightened a bit. "I'm Demitra and I work on social media. This place is wonderful, and I was wondering if I could post you guys and tag your business account."

I nodded, trying to stay focused, but truthfully? I barely heard a word after she introduced herself. All I could pay attention to was how her curls framed her face, the brightness of her smile, how her eyes didn't look away when I met them.

"And what would you want in return for that kind of exposure?" I asked honestly.

"A matcha latte..." she said, pausing for just a second, "and your number would be enough for now."

She said it so confidently that I forgot how to breathe. For a second, I was convinced I'd imagined it.

"I'm Sienna, by the way," I managed. "How old are you, Demitra?" I asked, mimicking her playful tone.

"I'm 19. Is that okay, Sienna?" she laughed slightly while handing me her phone. God, that laugh. It hit me like a warm breeze.

"That's perfect, Demitra," I said, typing in my number, handing her phone back. My hand brushed hers accidentally and I felt heat bloom across my cheeks.

"Well, I think I should get going," she said as Tara handed her the matcha latte.

"Well, it's been a pleasure. I guess I'll see you around," I replied, hoping—praying—that she meant what she said.

"Don't worry. I'll text you," she answered with that smile before walking out of the café like she hadn't just made my entire morning.

I stood there for a moment, frozen, then hurried back into my office, shutting the door behind me.

"What the fuck was that?" I murmured to myself, dropping into my chair, staring at my silent phone. Waiting for the screen to light up. Trying not to hope too much. And failing miserably.

A/N

So this is the first chapter, let me know what you think in the comments and if you have any ideas that you want to share, feel free to do so! Hope you enjoyed it!  xx