The rain had slowed to a whisper.

Drops slid down the edges of the old bookstore’s roof, one by one, tapping rhythmically against the silence that lingered between them.

Liora still hadn’t moved.

Her forehead rested against his shoulder, breath uneven, the faintest tremor still running through her body. Devansh could feel the cold of her skin slowly giving way to something warmer — fragile, human, like a heartbeat learning its rhythm again.

He lifted his hand gently, brushing her damp hair back.

“You’re shivering,” he murmured.

“So are you,” she whispered, her voice raw, almost guilty.

He smiled faintly. “Maybe we’re even now.”

That made her pull back slightly — her eyes meeting his. They were no longer crimson, but a deep brown, like dusk settling after a storm. The kind of eyes that shouldn’t belong to someone immortal, yet somehow did.

“You shouldn’t smile after what I just did,” she said softly. “It’s not right.”

“Why not?”

“Because I fed on you.”

“And?”

“And you’re not afraid.”

He tilted his head. “Should I be?”

She didn’t answer. Her lips trembled — not from thirst this time, but from disbelief. He reached for her hand, fingers brushing lightly against hers. Her skin was cold, yes, but it didn’t feel wrong. It felt real.

“I didn’t take much,” she said again, as if confessing.

“I know.”

“You should hate me.”

“I don’t.”

Her eyes shimmered, and for the first time, she didn’t try to hide it.

“Why?” she whispered.

He took a quiet breath. “Because… for the first time, you looked alive.”

That broke her.

Tears welled and fell — not crimson, just clear, human tears that glistened under the faint streetlight. She hid her face in her palms, shaking slightly. He didn’t say anything more. He simply let her exist — no judgment, no fear.

Minutes passed like that. The rain thinned until only mist hung in the air.

When she finally looked up, her lips curved faintly. “You shouldn’t stay out here. You’ll catch a cold.”

He chuckled softly. “And you’ll vanish again.”

Her expression softened — almost playful this time. “Maybe.”

He stood, brushing off his coat. “Then I’ll wait until morning if I have to.”

Her eyes widened a little. “You can’t stay here all night.”

“Watch me.”

For a moment, she just stared at him — then smiled the smallest smile he’d ever seen. A real one.

“Fine,” she said quietly. “But at least come inside. I’ll make coffee.”

He nodded, and they walked back to the café in silence.

Inside, the air still smelled faintly of roasted beans and rain. The lights were dim, but familiar. She brewed coffee while he sat back at his corner table, watching her move, the same grace in every motion.

When she brought the cups over, she hesitated before sitting across from him.

“This is the first time I’ve ever felt… full,” she admitted. “Not hungry. Not empty. Just… human.”

He met her gaze and smiled softly.

“Good,” he said. “Then let’s keep it that way.”

The steam curled between them, carrying the scent of warmth and peace.

Outside, dawn hadn’t yet arrived. But it felt closer than before.

And for the first time since forever, the café at 11:11 felt like a home to both of them.