Jamie wasn't usually one for cafés.
He preferred the noisy chaos of bars;the clatter of pool balls, the hum of drunken conversations, the way the air smelled like spilled beer and bad decisions. But today, his usual haunt was closed for renovations, and the rain had driven him to seek shelter in the first warm place he could find.
The café was quiet, the kind of place where people came to be alone together. Students hunched over textbooks, couples whispering over shared pastries, the occasional lone artist scribbling in a notebook. Jamie slid into a seat near the back, shaking the rain from his hair as he set his guitar case against the wall.
He was halfway through his coffee;black, bitter, just how he liked it,when he saw it.
A crumpled napkin, abandoned on the floor near his feet.
Normally, he wouldn't have thought twice about it. But something about the way it lay there, half-folded as if hiding a secret, made him reach for it.
The moment he smoothed it out, he knew.
Music.
Messy, hurried notes scrawled in smudged ink, but unmistakably a melody. A good melody. The kind that got under your skin and stayed there, humming in your bones long after the last note faded.
Jamie hummed it under his breath, testing the shape of it. It was wistful, aching in a way that made his chest tighten. Like the songwriter had poured something raw and real onto the paper without meaning to.
He glanced around, searching for the owner. The café was half-empty;a few students, an elderly couple, a barista wiping down the espresso machine. And then, in the corner, a lone figure hunched over a table littered with more crumpled napkins.
There.
The person;a young man, maybe in his mid-twenties,was scribbling furiously on another napkin, his brow furrowed in concentration. He had the look of someone trying very hard to disappear into the walls, his shoulders hunched, his dark hair falling into his eyes.
Jamie hesitated. He knew what it was like to get lost in a song, to need that quiet space where the world fell away. But the melody in his hands was too good to ignore.
Before he could second-guess himself, he was crossing the café, the napkin held carefully between his fingers.
"Hey," he said, stopping by the stranger's table. "Did you write this?"
The guy—Alex, as he'd soon learn—looked up like a deer caught in headlights, his pencil freezing mid-scribble. His eyes were wide, startled, the color of coffee in the dim café light.
And just like that, Jamie was hooked.
The First Conversation
Alex stared at him like he'd just grown a second head.
"Um," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "Yeah. I mean, no. I mean—"
Jamie grinned. "That's a very definitive answer."
Alex flushed, his fingers tightening around his pencil. "It's just a stupid doodle."
"Really?" Jamie held up the napkin. "Because this 'stupid doodle' is better than half the songs on the radio right now."
Alex's eyes flickered with something—surprise? Disbelief?—before he looked away. "You don't have to pretend."
"I'm not." Jamie pulled out the chair across from him without waiting for an invitation. "Seriously, this is good. You got more?"
Alex hesitated, then gestured vaguely at the pile of crumpled napkins between them. "They're not... I don't..."
"Play them for people?" Jamie guessed.
Alex's silence was answer enough.
Jamie leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. "Why not?"
Alex shrugged, his gaze fixed on his coffee cup. "Not really my thing."
"Performing?"
"People."
Jamie laughed. "Fair enough."
There was a beat of silence. Then, because he couldn't help himself, Jamie hummed the melody again, softer this time.
Alex's head snapped up. "You remember it?"
"Of course." Jamie tilted his head. "You sound surprised."
"I just... Most people don't..." Alex trailed off, shaking his head. "Never mind."
Jamie studied him for a long moment. There was something about Alex—the way he held himself, like he was bracing for impact, the way his fingers tapped restlessly against the table, like he was always halfway into a song.
"You know," Jamie said slowly, "I've been looking for new material for my set. Think I could borrow this?"
Alex blinked. "You... want to play it?"
"Yeah." Jamie grinned. "Unless you'd rather do it yourself?"
Alex's expression was answer enough.
Jamie laughed. "Didn't think so." He reached for another napkin, scanning the notes. "Damn. You're really good at this."
Alex ducked his head, but not before Jamie caught the flicker of a smile.
The Invitation
They talked for hours.
Or, more accurately, Jamie talked, and Alex listened, interjecting occasionally with a quiet comment or a hesitant smile. Jamie learned that Alex had been writing music since he was a kid, that he loved the way rain sounded against windows, that he had a bad habit of burning toast because he got distracted by melodies in his head.
In return, Jamie told him about life on the road, about playing dive bars to half-drunk crowds, about the way it felt to hold a guitar after a long day.
At some point, Jamie pulled out his guitar because of course he had it with him and played the melody from the napkin. Hearing it come to life under his fingers was surreal, like uncovering something precious.
Alex stared at him, his lips slightly parted. "That's... not how I heard it in my head."
Jamie paused. "Bad different?"
"No." Alex's voice was soft. "Just different."
Jamie grinned. "Good different?"
Alex hesitated, then nodded. "Yeah. Good different."
The café lights flickered as evening settled in, casting long shadows across the table. Jamie knew he should leave—he had a gig that night, a bar on the other side of town—but he couldn't bring himself to move.
"You should come play with me sometime," he said before he could stop himself.
Alex stiffened. "I don't perform."
"Not perform," Jamie corrected. "Just play. For fun."
Alex looked at him like he'd suggested they go skydiving without a parachute.
Jamie leaned forward. "Come on. What's the worst that could happen?"
Alex's expression was answer enough.
Jamie laughed. "Okay, fair. But what's the *best* that could happen?"
Alex didn't answer, but Jamie saw the way his fingers twitched against the table, like they were itching for a piano.
"Think about it," Jamie said, scribbling his number on a (clean) napkin and sliding it across the table. "No pressure."
Alex stared at the napkin like it might bite him.
Jamie stood, slinging his guitar over his shoulder. "For the record," he said, nodding to the crumpled melody still in his hand, "this is going to kill at my gig tonight."
Alex's eyes widened. "You're not really"
"Absolutely am." Jamie grinned. "Don't worry. I'll give you credit."
And with that, he was gone, leaving Alex sitting there, staring after him, a dozen unsung melodies burning in his chest.