The days slipped by in a rhythm Luiz had almost forgotten how to live.Work. Class. Café.Sleep. Repeat.
Each morning, Clara was already behind the counter, humming softly as she arranged pastries in the glass case. She had that rare kind of warmth — the kind that didn't pry, didn't demand. Just was.
"You're getting better," she said one afternoon, watching him pull a perfect espresso shot.
He smiled faintly. "You're just being kind."
"No," she replied, leaning against the counter. "Kind would be pretending not to notice you used salt instead of sugar last week."
Luiz laughed — a sound he hadn't realized he still had in him. "That was one time."
"It was traumatizing."
For the first time in years, he found himself talking without a filter — about music, the city, meaningless things. Never about the island, or the Valentines, or the ghosts he carried. Clara didn't push. She seemed to understand the unspoken rule between them: don't ask, don't ruin it.
But peace was never without a price.
The café sat near the heart of town — a small, bright corner where people came not just for coffee but for conversation. And conversation always came with curiosity.
"That new guy," one of the regulars murmured one morning, not knowing Luiz stood within earshot. "He's strange. Doesn't talk much. Always looks over his shoulder."
"Clara should be careful," another whispered. "He's hiding something. You can tell."
The words dug under Luiz's skin like splinters.He didn't blame them — rumors were safer than truth — but he hated how close they were to the mark.
Later that day, he caught Clara watching him quietly as he wiped tables. "You heard them too?" she asked softly.
He nodded. "It's fine. People talk."
She tilted her head. "It's not fine. You're good at your job. You don't deserve that."
"Deserve doesn't mean much where I come from," he said quietly.
Clara's eyes lingered on him — a mix of curiosity and something gentler. "Then maybe you're from the wrong place."
Her words stayed with him long after closing time.
The night air outside was cool, carrying the smell of rain and roasted beans. Luiz locked up the café, slipping the keys into his pocket.
He should've felt peace. Stability. Maybe even a hint of belonging.
But something about the silence bothered him — too still, too careful.
Across the street, under a streetlight, an old man sat reading a newspaper. His face was hidden by the brim of his hat. Luiz might've ignored him — except for the way the man turned one page without looking down.
It wasn't reading. It was waiting.
Luiz exhaled, forcing his heartbeat to slow. Maybe it was paranoia. Maybe just coincidence.
He turned and walked back inside to grab his bag. Clara was still there, scribbling something in her notebook. She looked up when he entered.
"You scared me," she said, smiling faintly. "Thought you'd already gone."
"Forgot my stuff," he said.
She hesitated, biting her lip. "Hey, I was thinking… tomorrow's our day off. There's this hiking trail outside the city — near the old quarry. You want to come? It's quiet. No coffee. No noise."
Luiz paused. His first instinct was to say no. But then he saw the way she looked at him — not pity, not curiosity. Just a simple invitation.
"Yeah," he said finally. "Why not?"
Clara's smile brightened, soft and real. "Good. I'll bring the coffee. You bring the bad jokes."
He smirked. "Deal."