Evening settled over Jaafar’s café not as a sudden fall, but as a slow, deliberate tide. It was a current of deepening blue that washed over the streets, knowing its purpose was to fill every corner until it lapped against the windows of the café. From within, the light was pure amber, a warm, liquid glow that promised sanctuary. The scent of dark-roast coffee and caramelized sugar breathed through the open door, a silent, insistent invitation to the world outside.

Joseph tied the crisp linen apron around his waist, the knot familiar and sure in his hands. It felt like a ritual, a liturgy his body remembered even after so much time away. Being behind the counter again was a strange comfort, like slipping into a second skin he’d thought he’d shed. His thoughts had wandered far, but his hands knew this place. They knew the weight of the portafilter, the smooth glide of the ceramic cups, the precise angle to steam milk.

“Look at you,” Jaafar’s voice rumbled from behind the gleaming chrome of the espresso machine, his smile crinkling the corners of his eyes. “It’s as if you never left.”

Joseph returned the grin, a genuine warmth spreading through his chest. “I guess muscle memory is a powerful thing.”

The café began to fill in the gentle, unhurried way of evenings that held promise. There was no rush, no clamor. Conversations unfurled like ribbons of silk. Laughter, when it came, lingered a moment longer than necessary, echoing softly against the wooden beams. Someone had put on one of Evan’s old playlists—a thread of melancholy, slow and mellow music with a hint of possible recommendations from Mira.

A woman, her shoulders wrapped in a light shawl that seemed more for comfort than for warmth, approached the counter. Her smile was blooming.

“Joseph?” she asked, a note of pleasant surprise in her voice.

He looked up, and recognition dawned a beat later, a welcome and familiar sight. “Oh—hello. It’s been a long time.”

“It truly has,” she affirmed. “I was walking past and saw you through the window. I thought, no, that can’t possibly be him”

He laughed, a sound that felt at home here. “Emergency coverage!”

Her expression softened with genuine concern. “ And your grandmother? Is she well?”

“She is,” Joseph said, the thought of her bringing a fond smile. “She’s away with her people for a while, It’s a long-overdue trip.”

The woman nodded, understanding. “That sounds just like her. Please tell her to come over so we could have tea”

“I will,” he promised. He prepared her jasmine tea just as she always liked it, a muscle memory of its own, and slid it across the polished counter. She left with a final wave.

Two men, old friends from the look of them, stepped up next, already caught in the middle of a shared laugh. One of them stopped short.

“No way,” he said, pointing. “ Is that middle-school Jojo?”

Joseph raised a playful eyebrow. “Depends. Are you the ones who used to skip warm-ups in P.E class?”

They erupted in laughter. “Man, it’s so good to see you,” the other said, his grin wide. “You still playing volleyball?”

“Always,” Joseph replied, the word solid and true. “You should come by the court down by the docks sometime.”

The conversation flowed easily, a comfortable current of work and weekends and the familiar salt-laced air of the volleyball court. Before they left, one of them clapped Joseph firmly on the shoulder, a gesture of solid, uncomplicated friendship. “We should play again. For real.” Joseph nodded, the smile still on his face. “Yeah. Let’s do that.” He felt a lightness settle in him after they’d gone. He liked this version of himself—the one rooted in this place, in these people. The one who belonged.

Then, the bell above the door chimed again.

The temperature in the room did not drop, but the quality of the air thinned, becoming charged and still. The gentle murmur of the café seemed to recede, as if a pane of glass had been silently lowered between Joseph and the rest of the room

A woman stepped inside without a trace of hesitation, her movements fluid and certain, as if she were entering a room she already owned. Her dark hair fell in a loose cascade around her shoulders. A thin, pale scar traced the left side of her face.

Without realizing it, Joseph straightened his posture, his spine becoming a line of defense.

She approached the counter, her gaze locking with his. It was direct, unwavering, and held an unnerving depth. “Black Coffee. No sugar.”

He gave a curt nod and turned to prepare it, every movement precise. He was aware of her presence with a startling, prickling clarity, as though he were being studied through a microscope. He could feel her gaze on his back.

When he turned and handed her the cup, their fingers brushed for a fraction of a second. A jolt, like static, shot up his arm. 

“Hello, Joseph.”

His hand, reaching for the register, stilled. “Do I know you?”

She tilted her head, a gesture of faint amusement. “Everybody knows you here.”

Her smile widened, though it didn’t reach her eyes. “Lyra.”

He nodded once, a silent acknowledgment. “Joseph.”

“I know,” she said, the two words landing with quiet, absolute certainty.

Something in his chest constricted. It wasn’t fear, not yet. It was a deeper, more primal instinct—a quiet alarm bell ringing in a distant part of his soul.

“How’s Evan?” she asked, her tone casual, almost familiar. The question was a stone dropped into a still pond.

Joseph blinked. “He’s sick. How do you know him though?”

“Ah,” Lyra said, taking a slow sip of her coffee. “A pity. I was hoping to retrieve my blue book from him tonight.”

A knot of ice formed in Joseph’s stomach. Blue book?

“I don’t think—” he began, his mind racing. Evan hadn’t mentioned the book, he was sure he lied to keep it.

“It’s quite alright,” she interrupted, her voice a gentle blade that cut through his denial. “Perhaps Evan wishes to keep it a while longer.”

That was worse. The implication hung in the air, heavy and suffocating. Which meant something else was terribly wrong.

“I’m not sure what you’re referring to,” Joseph said, his voice carefully neutral.

Lyra studied him for a long, silent moment, her gaze seeming to peel back layers he didn’t know he had. Then her expression softened, and she smiled again. She leaned forward, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper that was for him alone. The scent of ozone and sea salt seemed to cling to her. “Tell me,” she murmured, her eyes holding his. “What is your deepest desire?”

The question was so intimate, it threw him off balance. “My… deepest desire?”

“Yes,” Lyra confirmed, her gaze intense.

Joseph hesitated, then found his footing in the only truth he knew. He shrugged, honest as always. “I want to lead my volleyball team to a gold championship someday.”

A soft laugh escaped Lyra’s lips, a sound touched with a profound, almost sorrowful amusement. “Oh, Joseph,” she said, her voice laced with something ancient and knowing. “You are meant for far greater things than medals.”

He opened his mouth to ask what she meant, to demand an explanation for the vertigo she had induced—

“Joseph!” a voice called from the kitchen. “Table four needs their check!”

“I’ll be right there!” he called back, his head turning for only a heartbeat, a single, reflexive motion.

When he turned back, the space before him was empty.

Lyra was gone. The door swayed almost imperceptibly, as if brushed by a passing ghost. The air where she had stood was cold, and the only trace of her was the half-empty coffee cup on the counter and the lingering, unsettling coil of unease tightening in his chest.

___________

Down by the docks, where the air was thick with the smell of brine and diesel, the old sailor Jeff felt her presence before he saw her silhouette against the dark, churning water. He was a man weathered secrets, a sentinel at the edge of the known world.

“Lyra,” he said, his voice sharp and cracked like old wood. “What are you doing?”

She slowed her pace but did not stop, a phantom moving along the pier. “I am doing exactly what I need to do, old man.”

The sailor’s jaw tightened, the muscles cording in his neck. “Leave the boys out of this, and stay with me.”

She glanced back over her shoulder, and in the faint moonlight, her smile was luminous and terrible.

“Leave the boys out of this, please!” He shouted, his frayed rope of a voice breaking with desperation against the vast, indifferent dark. 

“I need to go back home, you know that” Lyra only smiled and kept walking, melting into the shadows at the end of the pier.

The sea offered no reply and in its silence, carried her away.