The next week arrived humming with noise. Posters appeared on nearby lampposts—*House of Joy: Where the City Learns to Dance.* No one knew who made them. Daphne stared at one while waiting for the morning delivery truck, paper coffee in hand, half flattered, half alarmed.
Finn ran up beside her. “We’re trending again. Someone posted a clip from last night’s practice. A million views.”
“That’s a lot of witnesses,” she said.
“Free publicity,” he grinned.
“Free pressure,” she replied.
Inside, the restaurant was already half full before opening hours. Mira stood behind the counter like a general disguised as a barista. “We need a system for these people.”
“What people?” Daphne asked.
“The ones who don’t order food. They just sit and hope someone starts dancing.”
Jamie waved from the corner. “I charged one of them five dollars for rhythm tax.”
“You what?”
“He paid.”
“Keep the money,” Mira said. “Innovation deserves reward.”
Caius entered a few minutes later, looking sharper than usual, hair styled, shirt pressed. Daphne raised an eyebrow. “Interview?”
“Meeting,” he said. “Studio wants to talk again. New format, less chaos, more humanity.”
“Isn’t that contradictory?”
“Exactly why I’m going.”
He gave her a look that hovered between excitement and apology. “It’s just a meeting.”
“I know,” she said, though her chest didn’t agree.
They fell into their morning routine: cleaning, prepping, pretending the rhythm hadn’t shifted again. The walls felt like they were listening.
By noon, the place was a blur of laughter, plates, and camera phones. Every table held a fragment of conversation that could end up online. Daphne smiled until it felt like an act of endurance.
When Caius returned that evening, the air around him was different—crisp, charged. He handed her a card from the studio, embossed and heavy. “They’re launching a new show. Documentary style. They want me to host.”
She read the words carefully. “*Stories That Move.*”
“Yeah.”
“They mean you.”
“They mean us,” he said quietly. “They want to film here.”
Her throat tightened. “Here?”
“Just a few segments. They said it could help—exposure, funding, everything.”
She looked at the lanterns hanging near the window, their paper edges fluttering with the draft. “And what if it changes what this place means?”
“Then we make sure it doesn’t.”
He said it like a promise, but it sounded like a risk.
The next morning began too early for courage. Daphne arrived at the restaurant to find Mira already there, staring at the same poster that had appeared overnight—this one larger, brighter, and clearly studio-made.
“They moved fast,” Mira said. “Like caffeine with a budget.”
Daphne tore it down. “No one asked them to.”
Finn peeked from the kitchen. “Technically, you didn’t tell them not to.”
Jamie held up his tablet. “We’re on the city’s event page now. They labeled it ‘Cultural Movement Initiative.’”
Mira groaned. “That sounds like a tax audit disguised as inspiration.”
Caius entered mid-chaos, phone buzzing nonstop. “Okay, I didn’t approve that poster. I swear.”
“But you said yes to the project?” Daphne asked.
“I said maybe. They took it as yes.”
“That’s not miscommunication, that’s enthusiasm with money,” Mira muttered.
Daphne exhaled. “We’ll need boundaries.”
“I’ll talk to them,” Caius said quickly. “You focus on the place.”
She nodded, though the word *boundaries* lingered like a song she couldn’t turn off.
By evening, they were too tired to argue. The studio sent a team to “survey the space.” Tripods and cables filled corners that used to hold laughter. Finn labeled one of the boxes *Fragile Joy* with a marker. Jamie added a doodle of a dancing toaster.
“Think they’ll film the toaster?” he asked.
“They’ll film anything that moves,” Finn said.
Daphne watched quietly, feeling her dream shrink and expand all at once. Caius stood beside her, expression unreadable.
“They’ll only be here for a week,” he said softly.
“That’s how long it takes to forget who you were,” she replied.
He turned toward her. “You think I’ll forget?”
“I think you’ll remember differently.”
The crew tested lights. The old walls glowed under artificial brightness, and for a brief moment, everything looked perfect—too perfect. The kind of beauty that comes with contracts.
Daphne turned away. “Let’s close early.”
Mira nodded. Finn and Jamie began stacking chairs. Caius reached out as if to stop her, then let his hand fall.
Outside, the city lights flickered on one by one, reflected in the restaurant window like tiny stages waiting for their performers. Inside, silence settled again—but it wasn’t empty. It was holding its breath, waiting to see which of them would move first.
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