The sky had turned the colour of silver just as they stepped into Café Lumere.
A faint breeze trailed in behind them, carrying the smell of wet earth, and moments later, the rain began — unexpected, soft, and rhythmic, drumming gently against the glass walls.

Lucen glanced upward, a faint smile curving his lips. “Looks like the weather decided to join us,” he murmured, half to himself.

Elara followed his gaze. The rain came steady now, blurring the city into hazy shapes beyond the window. For some reason, it didn’t feel like a coincidence — more like something that had been waiting for them.

Rain had always carried weight for both of them.
For her, it had been comfort during lonely nights — the kind of silence that didn’t demand anything.
For him, it had been clarity — the sound he always sought when words refused to make sense.

Now, sitting across from each other in that soft, mist-lit calm, it felt as if the weather had remembered what both of them had forgotten: that sometimes the sky knows what hearts won’t say.

They took the corner table near the window — the same one where Lucen had once realised his feelings for her.
The air smelled faintly of roasted beans and rain-soaked soil.

Elara sat quietly, her fingers curled around the warm cup the waiter had just set down. Her heart was steady, but her thoughts weren’t.
She had wanted this meeting, asked for it — but now, face-to-face, she didn’t know where to begin.

Lucen broke the silence first, his tone easy but thoughtful.
“I hope you’re not too tired of family conversations by now,” he said with a small, knowing smile.

Elara’s lips curved slightly, a flicker of humour easing her tension. “A little. Everyone talks as if I’ve already agreed.”

He chuckled softly. “That’s what families do. They get ahead of the story.”

The small exchange loosened the weight between them. She relaxed a little, her shoulders no longer so guarded.

Outside, rain continued to fall — steady, unhurried, wrapping the world in quiet.

After a pause, she asked softly, “Can I ask you something?”

Lucen looked up from his coffee. “Of course.”

She hesitated for a moment, then met his eyes. “Even if this was arranged… why did you agree to it?”

Her question was simple, but her tone wasn’t. It carried fear, confusion, and something deeper — the need to understand.

Lucen didn’t answer immediately. He took a slow breath, his gaze lingering on her — not intense, just steady.
He noticed how she wouldn’t meet his eyes for long, how she kept tracing circles on her cup as if searching for courage.

Finally, he said quietly, “Because I trust my mother’s judgment. And because I’ve known you long enough to know what kind of person you are — even if you never said much.”

Her brows knit slightly. “I didn’t think I was that noticeable.”

“You were,” he said with a faint smile. “You just didn’t see it. Sometimes silence speaks louder than words, if someone’s really listening.”

She looked away, her lips parting as if to answer, but no words came. The faint pink that rose to her cheeks said enough.

The rain deepened outside, a silver curtain against the glass.
Elara stirred her tea absently, watching how the light shimmered across the surface.
She realised, quietly, that Lucen hadn’t looked at his phone once since sitting down — that he had shifted her cup slightly closer to her when she wasn’t paying attention, that his tone had never once tried to control the rhythm of the conversation.

Small things. Subtle things.
Acts of gentleness she’d missed before, even when they worked together.

Her mind flickered to memories of boys who’d tried to talk to her at university — all surface, loud words, empty curiosity.
Lucen was nothing like them. He was stillness, patience, and understanding in human form.

She looked at him again, her voice quieter now. “You’re… not what I expected.”

He tilted his head slightly. “What did you expect?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “People usually… they try too hard. Or they judge before they even know me. I guess I thought you’d be the same.”

Lucen’s smile was soft, his eyes thoughtful. “Maybe I just learned that quiet doesn’t mean distant. Sometimes it’s just someone’s way of protecting what matters.”

Her gaze softened. “Protecting,” she echoed quietly, almost to herself.

The word lingered between them like the scent of rain — faint but lingering.

They talked after that — gently, carefully, finding small pieces of common ground between long silences.
He listened the way few people did — fully, attentively.
And each time she spoke, the uncertainty in her voice thinned a little, replaced by something lighter.

When she admitted that loud spaces made her anxious because they made her feel invisible, he smiled and said, “Then I suppose this café was made for you. It’s quiet, but it never feels empty.”

She, for the first time in front of him, smiled a little harder than usual through the steady rhythm of rain, and something about the sound made his chest ache — in the best possible way.

Time passed without notice.
The cups were empty. The rain slowed to a drizzle, leaving only the soft reflection of lights on wet glass.

When they finally stepped outside, the world had changed colours — the air washed clean, the sky turning a pale shade of dusk.
Lucen walked beside her toward the car, keeping a respectful distance. The silence was companionable now, almost easy.

At the car door, she turned to him.
“Lucen…”

He paused, his hand resting lightly on the door handle. “Yes?”

“I just need a little time,” she said softly. “A week to think, to understand what I really want.”

There was no hesitation in his answer. “Take all the time you need.”

She studied him for a moment — the calm certainty in his eyes, the patience that never faltered. It made her wonder what kind of strength it took to be that gentle.

“Thank you,” she said quietly.

He nodded once, and this time, when he opened the back door for her, she didn’t hesitate.

Before stepping in, she looked at him again — the streetlight catching the rain still glistening in his hair, the faint smile he tried to hide.