Page 205 of Dream On, Liar

Rihaan

EARLY APRIL HAD FINALLY given London its first proper taste of spring, though the city still couldn’t quite commit to it. The sun kept slipping in and out behind thin veils of cloud, as if even it wasn’t sure it wanted to stay. Pavements still held the damp memory of rain that had passed too recently to forget, and people moved through the streets half-dressed for warmth, half-dressed for hope.

I didn’t trust hope in London.

Not anymore.

The café was too warm for the coat I hadn’t taken off, the kind of warmth that clung to your skin and made you forget the outside world for a second too long. Coffee, cinnamon, toasted bread—everything soft and domestic in a way that always made me feel slightly out of place.

I told myself I was only here for Raina.

Her list had been precise, as always.

Coffee.

Ariyanka’s special sourdough.

And something sweet—preferably donuts.

With a small note that said, don’t come back with protein bars for yourself and call it breakfast.

I’d taken it seriously.

There were other bags too—special Tales & Lattes cupcakes, along with small things for the family gathering later. Raina had insisted on it being at the townhouse. She wanted everyone there when she told them.

Not just about the baby, but that it was a boy.

The thought of it still landed somewhere deep in my chest, warm and unfamiliar, like something I hadn’t realised I’d been waiting for.

And then there was the engagement.

I collected the last drink from the counter, balancing everything carefully in my hands, and let my eyes drift without meaning to.

The café had a small “Book of the Week” corner tucked away near the window—wooden shelves, neatly lined up, even though, to me they all just looked like books leaning into each other like they were trying not to fall.

I didn’t know why I walked over.

I just did.

Maybe it was the quiet.

Maybe it was the way my mind had started filling silence with her without asking permission.

I set the drinks down for a second and picked up a book.

Minimalist cover. Clean font. The kind of design that looked like it was trying too hard not to be noticed.

Maeve would’ve called it boring.

Then she would’ve read it in one sitting.

My thumb brushed the edge of the cover.

Would she like this?

The thought came too easily.

Too naturally.