1:56 PM – Outside the Café
Amy stood under the shade of a tall ash tree, arms crossed loosely, trying not to rehearse her words again. She'd parked the Lilac Ghost a block away and walked the rest, just to collect her breath.
She checked the reflection in her phone camera one more time. Hair: slightly chaotic, but styled enough. Blouse: still perfect. She tapped her fingers nervously against her side.
Then she heard it—the soft hum of a voice, light laughter carried on the summer wind.
Amy turned, and there she was.
Sara Ilyra Veylan.
Golden-blonde hair pulled into a low braid, loose strands catching the light like silk threads. She wore a soft cream blouse tucked into a high-waisted skirt, navy blue with tiny embroidered stars, and her shoes—ankle boots, clean but casual—clicked lightly on the stone path.
Sunlight pooled around her like it was drawn to her presence. But it wasn't just that. It was the way she walked—assured, graceful, warm. Like someone who knew how to exist in the world and make space for others inside it.
Amy forgot, briefly, how to breathe.
Sara spotted her, smiled—gentle, bright—and waved.
Amy's heart thudded.
Okay. Showtime.
The bell above the café door chimed gently as they stepped inside.
Sara led the way with a small gesture, her eyes scanning for a corner seat. Amy followed, fingers curled around the strap of her shoulder bag, willing her heartbeat into something less chaotic. They settled near the window, sunlight warming the wooden table between them. Outside, the world moved quietly — bicycles, strolling couples, the rustle of trees.
"Are you always this early?" Sara asked with a half-smile, brushing her braid behind one ear.
Amy blinked. "I—uh, not really. Today was… an exception."
Sara rested her chin on one hand. "Exception or effort?"
"Maybe both," Amy admitted, and then cursed herself for sounding too eager.
But Sara didn't tease. She just tilted her head, smiling in a way that made it impossible to look away.
Their drinks came first — Sara with a chamomile iced tea, Amy with a creamy lavender latte she hadn't dared try before today. The initial few minutes passed with safe topics: favorite cafés, annoying teachers, books they were reading. Amy relaxed slightly when Sara admitted she wasn't caught up on any shows either. They laughed at the same weird parts of a menu neither ended up ordering from.
After they finished, Sara leaned back. "So… what now?"
Amy hesitated, then pulled out her phone and tapped a map open. "I had some backup ideas. In case you said yes."
Sara raised a brow, amused. "How many?"
"Four."
Sara laughed. "Ambitious."
"You're not obligated to do them all—"
"Lead the way, Amy."
…
They exited the café and walked back toward the street where Amy had parked. Sara stopped short when she saw the Lilac Ghost — soft graphite paint with violet reflections, a shape like it had been designed by someone who sculpted dreams.
"This is yours?"
Amy nodded.
Sara walked slowly around it. "It looks like a cloud that could murder someone."
"That's… surprisingly accurate."
The car purred to life as they slipped inside, both of them settling into the cool, sun-filtered quiet. Amy let out a breath she didn't know she'd been holding.
"Where to first?" Sara asked, buckling in.
Amy smiled. "Somewhere warm."
…
The day unfolded like a dream stitched together by golden light and quiet laughter.
They started at an indoor botanical garden, where vines curled toward the sunlit dome and bioluminescent plants flickered gently beneath the trees. Amy didn't remember what she'd said to make Sara laugh near the koi pond — only the sound of her voice, and the way sunlight scattered across her cheeks.
From there, they wandered through an art exhibit tucked into a repurposed observatory, where glass sculptures shimmered like frozen emotions. Sara lingered in front of one that looked like it had been shattered and mended with light. Amy stood beside her, both of them silent, until Sara whispered something about grief. Amy didn't respond with words — just a quiet nod that somehow said everything.
A cozy bookstore café was next, where the smell of ink and cherries filled the air. They shared a slice of cake and drifted through shelves, shoulders brushing, voices low. At one point, Sara read a line of poetry aloud and Amy had to look away, heart pounding for reasons she couldn't name yet.
Later, they sat atop a hill overlooking the city, legs stretched out across the hood of the Lilac Ghost. The wind tousled their hair, and Sara wore a pair of tinted sunglasses Amy had handed her as a joke. They traded smiles and silence like old friends who had never needed to fill space with words.
As evening approached, the boardwalk drew them in with its smell of salt and sugar. They strolled side by side, pausing at odd little shops and laughing at sea-themed trinkets. Sara bought Amy a silver wolf keychain and clipped it to her belt without asking. "It suits you," she said.
Amy didn't have the courage to reply, not right away. But as the sky turned soft with dusk and the waves lapped against the shore, they sat on a bench together — just far enough for breath, just close enough to feel it.
"Thank you," Amy said finally.
Sara tilted her head toward her. "For what?"
"For today," she answered. "For saying yes."
Sara looked at her — really looked — and smiled.
"You're not easy to say no to."
There was no kiss. Just the warmth of something blooming. Something not yet named.