IT WAS already past six in the evening, when a dark Maybach reached the heart of the capital and joined the long traffic. In the backseat, Iyana scrolled through her phone and read the breaking news: a major controlled-access highway had lost power. So, the management directed the vehicles manually.
She sighed.
No wonder.
She scratched the corner of her face.
"There's a power outage," she murmured.
The female driver said nothing, then pressed a few keys on the screen beside the wheel.
"We'll reach the campus for about four hours if we continue," she said mechanically. "You need to take your dinner somewhere here, Miss."
The driver's eyes remained on the windscreen.
"You're not eating?" Iyana asked, glancing at the rear window.
"I'm full. Where do you want to eat?" the driver asked.
Iyana glanced out at the city lights.
"Just soup," she replied.
The car made a turn.
It slowed down onto a two-lane street, lined with commercial buildings full of diners. "There's a lot of soups there," the driver said, pointing to her right.
The place was called Greg's Café.
"Are you sure you're not coming?" Iyana asked.
"No thanks," the driver replied. "I'll have to check a place near here as well. I'll be back. May I have your phone number? I'll message you if something happens."
Iyana held up her phone, showing the driver her QR code.
"Your name?" she asked.
"Just call me Apple," the driver said with a faint smile.
Nodding, Iyana pouted a little. "Alright."
Then she wordlessly got out of the car.
...
THE CAFÉ was dim, with yellow, translucent lights glowed overhead. On the left, glass panes turned at a corner, forming an L against the shadows. A bar counter stretched along that side, with drinks lined neatly on glass shelves.
On the right, five small tables stood beside the wall, lining a narrow space that led to a staff room and a sink with a mirror. The air smelled of sour fish soups and a faint trace of teas.
After ordering her food at the counter, Iyana let her gaze drift to a table just across from it. The corner was dim, but a pool of light fell on the table, showing a chessboard.
She leaned closer, her brows furrowed.
"A rook and bishop. That's just a draw," she murmured.
"A diagonal control made the difference," a deep, masculine voice replied.
But her eyes stayed on the board.
"That's why the pawns wouldn't matter here," she nodded.
"No passed pawns. Balanced material. It's a classic ending," the voice replied.
"Is this classical?" she asked.
Only then did she look at him.
He was sitting to the left. Even seated, he looked tall, long legs crossed, knees brushing the white table. A black shirt beneath a brown leather jacket framed his sharp jaw and curved, ebony eyes. His undercut only made him more dangerously elegant.
"No idea," he said, eyes on her. "Some people played earlier but left it unfinished."
"That's disrespectful."
"Very." His tone was lazy, drawling.
Then his gaze shifted toward the glass. She glanced around. But all the tables were occupied, voices low, kept to themselves. She had no choice but to stay here.
"Is it alright?" she asked.
He took a sideways glance and gave a faint nod. Then, he pulled out a small electronic pad, then lowered his eyes beneath the table. She didn't look at him anymore, just scrolled through her phone.
Minutes later, a waitress put away the chessboard.
A plate took its place.
Corn soup, for her.
Then a strawberry yogurt, for him.
She looked at the yogurt.
Strange, she thought, for a man like him.
"I can't share bacteria," he said, catching her staring.
When her gaze lifted, his mouth had already curved—faint, unreadable. In the dim light, his dark eyes held still, impenetrable. Then she looked away.
"Probiotics are best for breakfast," she said, stirring her soup.
"I do as I please."
"I believe that," she swallowed.
"Oh?"
She glanced at him. His lips were still curving. But his eyes were on the yogurt as his long fingers peeled away the aluminum foil.
"You believe what," he said, without looking at her.
She began spooning her soup.
"That you'll eat whatever you like," she muttered, her heart pounding.
She wished she said nothing.
Or about probiotics.
Or anything at all.
She breathed with relief when the man said nothing more.
As she neared the end of her soup, her gaze drifted to the panes, where a line of taxis and private cars tried to escape the traffic through the side street.
It didn't help.
They were still trapped.
Her head tilted, eyes on the distant lanes.
No sign of a black Maybach yet.
Why today, of all days, for that road to fail?
"Tsk, the traffic's been transferred here."
It was a man's voice.
Iyana glanced back. A middle-aged man had just entered the café. He crossed the room, eyes on the staff at the bar counter.
"Your car can't come here?" the male staff asked, pouring a drink and handing it to the man who had just sat on the stool.
"Just look outside. It'll take two hours before they're cleared," the man grumbled.
Iyana frowned, scrolling through her phone. The news said power was back, but traffic and reroutes were still a problem.
"Which road is this?" the staff asked.
"It's Cassia Highway, the tolled one."
"Tsk, tsk."
Iyana typed and sent a message to Solen:
Still stuck because of traffic.
It was almost eight now.
Just then a message popped up:
"Miss, this is Apple. The car can't enter the street. Please meet me near the gas station beside Bucket Coffee. Just take the right side."
Iyana checked the GPS.
But no coffee shop by that name showed up nearby.
Instinctively, she lifted her head and glanced at the stranger across from her, eyes fixed on his tablet.
"Excuse me." She paused as he looked up.
He looked up.
"Do you know where Bucket Coffee is?" she asked.
"It's along the highway. Take the right side," he replied.
"I... see. Thanks," she said, standing.
"You can't spot it easily. It's near a tall building," he added, rising as well. "I'm heading there too. Most people wait for taxis there."
"Oh."
As they walked toward the entrance, she noticed a few women staring at his face, transfixed. She wondered if it was his attractive face or the way he carried himself.
For her, it was the latter.
*