The restaurant was warm in a way Clara didn’t expect. Not just from the low lights or the soft hum of conversation, but from the way the space settled around them—as if the room understood something was shifting.
Elias didn’t rush to speak.
He didn’t fidget or scan the area the way some people did when they weren’t sure how to behave.
He simply sat across from her, steady and unhurried, as if being here—just here—was enough.
Clara wasn’t used to silence feeling comfortable.
But with him, it did.
A server placed two menus in front of them. Clara reached for hers. Elias didn’t. He watched her instead, not in the direct, heavy way he sometimes did, but with a quieter focus, as if paying attention had become instinct.
“You’re not looking at yours,” she said.
“I will,” he replied, but made no move to open it.
She hid a small smile behind the menu.
Outside, the harbor lights flickered across the water, their reflections stretching into thin lines that swayed with the tide. The window beside them fogged slightly from the warmth of the room, forming a thin barrier between the cold and the moment they were in.
Clara set down her menu first.
“So… you come here often?”
“No.”
He paused. “Never.”
“Never?”
He nodded once. “I looked for somewhere quiet.”
Quiet.
Not fancy.
Not impressive.
Just somewhere they could breathe.
It settled deep inside her.
When the server returned, Elias finally glanced at the menu—not flipping through it, just reading one section with decisive stillness. Clara ordered first. Elias followed, choosing with the kind of certainty that suggested he didn’t need many options.
When the server left, Clara folded her hands on the table.
“This feels strange,” she said softly, unsure if she meant to say it aloud.
Elias didn’t react with confusion or discomfort.
He simply shifted forward a fraction, closing some of the space between them.
“Strange can be good,” he said.
Clara exhaled, barely aware she’d been holding her breath.
She looked down at the table, tracing a faint scratch on the wooden surface. She wasn’t sure how to describe what she was feeling—something like steadiness mixed with a quiet flutter, something like warmth starting from the center and moving outward.
She lifted her gaze again.
Elias hadn’t looked away once.
The room felt gentler around them. Less like a first step and more like something they’d been walking toward for days—slowly, hesitantly, but undeniably.
He rested one arm along the side of the table, not touching her, but near enough that the distance felt intentional.
Clara found herself mirroring the small shift, her elbow resting a little closer than before.
A subtle alignment.
Not forced.
Not planned.
Just two people leaning toward the same place at the same time.
When their food arrived, she felt her pulse settle, as though the familiarity of eating gave her something to anchor herself to. Elias ate quietly, methodically, not rushing. Every so often he looked up, checking—not obviously, but enough for her to notice.
Clara realized he was making sure she was comfortable.
Not because he was nervous, but because he cared.
The thought warmed her more than the soup in her hands.
As the plates emptied and the evening deepened, something loosened between them—not distance, but the last thin veil of unfamiliarity.
It wasn’t a dramatic moment.
Nothing sudden.
Just a quiet recognition:
They were beginning something neither of them wanted to step away from.
By the time they finished eating, the restaurant had thinned out. Only a few tables were still occupied, the low murmur of voices blending with the soft clatter of dishes being cleared.
Elias rested his hands loosely on the edge of the table, posture relaxed in a way that felt rare for him. Clara watched the way his shoulders had dropped, just slightly, as if something in him was finally unclenching.
When she stood to put on her coat, he rose immediately—not abruptly, but with a certainty that suggested he didn’t even consider staying seated.
Clara slipped her arms through the sleeves, fingers fumbling with the collar. Before she could adjust it, Elias stepped closer.
Not touching—
but close enough that she could feel his intent.
“Here,” he said quietly.
His hands lifted the collar gently, folding it into place with slow, careful movements, as though he was working with something fragile. Clara held still, her breath soft in the space between them.
When he let go, she exhaled.
“Thank you,” she murmured.
He didn’t step back.
Not immediately.
The cold met them the moment they stepped outside. A sharp breeze swept along the street, pushing at their coats. Elias watched her reaction out of the corner of his eye.
She hugged her arms closer.
He noticed.
He always noticed.
They walked slowly toward the harbor. The city lights reflected on the pavement in faint patches, and Clara felt the world narrowing to the quiet space between them.
“It’s colder than last time,” she said.
“Yes.”
“You don’t seem bothered.”
“I don’t get cold easily.”
She laughed lightly. “Of course you don’t.”
They reached the familiar overlook. The water below rippled in dark blues, the wind brushing waves against the wooden posts. Clara stood beside the railing, looking out toward the lights scattered across the horizon.
Elias stood beside her—not touching, but near enough that the space between them felt intentional.
A slow inhale left his chest.
“Clara.”
She turned her head slightly. “Hm?”
He didn’t look at her right away.
He watched the water, as if aligning his thoughts with the tide.
“When I’m here,” he said, “I don’t feel… the distance.”
Clara’s brows lifted. “Distance?”
He nodded once. “The one I feel everywhere else.”
Her heart tightened—not in fear, but recognition.
She understood exactly what distance he meant.
The one he’d carried in his shoulders.
The one he kept between himself and everyone else.
The one made of habit, of caution, of years spent not letting people close.
A distance she realized she hadn’t felt from him in days.
Softly, she said, “I don’t feel it either.”
Elias let that sit for a moment—
a small admission,
a quiet truth.
Wind brushed her hair across her cheek. She tucked it behind her ear, fingers trembling slightly from the cold.
He noticed.
He shifted just enough that his shoulder brushed hers, as if offering warmth without forcing it.
The touch was small.
Barely there.
But it carried weight—
the kind that settled somewhere deep.
Clara breathed in slowly, grounding herself.
“Elias,” she said, voice low, “did you want tonight to be different from the other nights?”
He didn’t look away from the water.
“Yes.”
“In what way?”
“In every way,” he said simply.
Her pulse fluttered.
He reached for her hand—not fast, not hesitant—just steady, as though the decision had been waiting all evening.
She met his hand halfway.
Their fingers linked, fitting with a familiarity that felt both new and inevitable.
Elias finally looked at her, eyes steady in the dim light.
“I like this,” he said quietly.
“So do I,” she whispered.
They didn’t move for a long time.
The distance between them,
the one he spoke of,
was gone.
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