The cafe smells like freshly brewed coffee and vanilla pastries, the kind of scent that made it easy to pretend the world isn''t an absolute disaster half the time. Vera sits at her usual spot near the window, hunched over her laptop.
The church across the street stood tall and silent, it''s presence is a quiet reassurance. This place had become her safe zone. Ever since the ghosts started coming for her, she''d learned and was taught to stick close to places they avoided, churches, temples, anything holy.
And this cafe? It is perfect. The pastries are good, the Wi-Fi doesn''t suck, and most importantly, the ghosts never followed her here, only watching.
But today is... different.
Not a single shadow lurking in the reflection of the cafe''s glass door. No whispery figures in the corners. No chills running down her spine.
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"Mind if I sit here?"
She blinks, looking up.
Tall. Dark hair. Chiseled features that looked like they belonged in a Renaissance painting. His expression was easygoing. His eyes, though, golden and unreadable.
Vera glances around. The cafe is half-empty, plenty of other seats open.
Suspicious.
"You don''t need to sit here," she pointed out.
"True. But I want to."
She exhales through her nose, debating whether she has the energy for human interaction today.
"Fine. Whatever," she muttered, shifting her laptop slightly to give herself more space.
He sits across from her, setting down a black coffee. No sugar, no milk. Just straight-up bitterness.
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Fitting.
"What''re you working on?" he asked casually, nodding at her screen.
"Psych assignment," she said, eyeing him warily. "Why?"
"Just curious." He took a sip of his coffee, watching her over the rim of his cup. "You''re here a lot."
Vera frowned. "And you know that because...?"
"Because I''m here a lot, too." He tilted his head, like he was studying her reaction. "Guess we just never noticed each other."
Liar.
She didn''t say it out loud, but something about him doesn''t add up. He is too smooth, too intentional for a guy who just happened to exist in the same space as her.
And the ghosts? Still nowhere in sight. Not even lingering outside.
She taps her fingers against the keyboard.
I should be relieved.
I should be throwing a mental celebration because for the first time in forever, I’m not being watched, whispered to, stalked by things that don’t have the decency to stay dead.
But I’m not. Because ghosts don’t just disappear. They don’t take vacations.
Vera squints at the guy across from her, stirring her hot coffee with the straw as she tries to get a read on him. He is too calm. Too smooth.
Why is he so calm? Most guys would’ve at least looked a little awkward after being called out. But no. Mr. Broody over here is just sitting there, drinking his black coffee like some kind of fucking antihero in a noir film.
She isn''t stupid.
What the hell do I do? Tell him to fuck off just because he''s a little too friendly? It wasn''t like he actually done anything sketchy.
She exhales through her nose and leans back in her chair, deciding to brush it off. For now.
"So, do you go to uni, or are you one of those creeps who just hangs out in cafes looking mysterious?" she asked, raising a brow.
He let out a quiet chuckle. "Bit of both."
Vera rolls her eyes.
Fucking figures.
Before she could come up with a snarky response, a familiar voice cut in.
"There you are, bitch! I''ve been looking for you everywhere."
Vera turns her head just as Connielia dropped into the seat beside her, tossing her bag onto the table like she owned the place.
Mr. Whatever-his-name-is, glances at Connielia with no interest and said nothing.
Vera, on the other hand, let out an exaggerated sigh. "Jesus, Connie. You act like I went missing or something."
"You have been ignoring my texts," Connielia shot back, then gave a pointed look at the guy across from them. "And who''s this?"
Vera hesitated for half a second before realizing.
Shit. I don''t even know his name.
Great. Fantastic.
I let a complete stranger sit with me and I didn’t even think to ask for his name. Now I look like an idiot, it''s like I invited him here on purpose. And the way he’s smiling? Yeah, he knows exactly what he’s doing.
Bastard.
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His POV :
She doesn''t trust him.
Good.
Vera isn''t the type to get swept up just because someone smiled at her the right way.
He likes that about her.
Doesn''t change the fact that he has a job to do.
He leans back in his chair, fingers wrapping loosely around his coffee cup, watching the way she narrowed her eyes at him between sips of her drink.
Then her friend showed up.
Loud, bold, dropping into the seat next to her like it''s not the first time.
He didn''t react, just tilted his head slightly as the girl, Connielia, apparently, gave him a once-over, all curiosity and mild hostility.
"And who''s this?"
Vera hesitated.
She doesn''t know my name.
Perfect.
He let a small, amused smile touch his lips. "Oh? She hasn''t mentioned me?"
"We literally just met." Vera, obviously unimpressed.
"Funny. I feel like I’ve known you much longer."
Vera felt it then. A flicker of something cold, just for a second, running down her spine. Not a ghost. Not a chill from the AC. Something else.
She ignored it.
Connielia''s eyes flicked between them, then back to him. "Uh-huh. And?"
"And I thought to introduce myself."