The café was quiet, bathed in a soft light filtering through the large windows. The raw wooden tables, the hanging plants, and the scent of freshly ground coffee created an almost cozy, soothing atmosphere—a sharp contrast to the turmoil stirring inside Hena.
She sat upright, tense. Bérénice to her right was talking animatedly, but her words bounced off empty space. Because across from them, Daniel had taken a seat, silent, arms crossed on the table, his gaze locked straight on Hena.
Hena couldn't calm down. Why had Bérénice done this? Why had she invited him without telling her beforehand? Her palms were damp under the table. There was no room for anger—only confusion, fresh memories, and that stare—Daniel's stare—that seemed to read her without blinking.
— "So, what did you order?" Bérénice asked with a cheerful smile, breaking the silence.
— "Black coffee," Daniel replied calmly. "Strong."
Hena briefly looked away. It was stupid to feel this observed. He hadn't said anything out of the ordinary. And yet, everything sounded different coming from him.
— "A latte," she said, almost against her will. "With caramel."
Daniel nodded, as if filing away the information for later use. Bérénice glanced at them both in turn, then declared brightly:
— "See? It's not that weird, the three of us being here. I just thought it'd be nice, that's all."
But Hena didn't answer. And Daniel wasn't smiling.
The waiter brought their drinks. Minutes stretched on. Small talk was exchanged—mostly between Bérénice and Daniel. Hena stayed in the background, cloaked in cautious silence.
Then, after a while, Bérénice announced she had to make an important call. She stood up and left the table with a feigned lightness. Hena understood immediately: this wasn't a coincidence.
They were alone.
A silence fell, heavier than the ones before. Daniel didn't take his eyes off her. He wasn't doing anything threatening, nothing excessive. And yet, Hena felt every heartbeat like a dull thud.
— "You didn't expect this," he said at last. "Me being here."
She slowly shook her head.
— "No."
A barely-there smile crossed his lips.
— "And now that I am?"
Hena stared at him for a moment. She could have looked away. She should have. But she held his gaze, her jaw clenched.
He was playing with the spoon in his cup, spinning it silently. His gaze wasn't trying to intimidate her this time. It was calm—almost... human.
— "You know, I've heard things about you," he finally said. "Not in a creepy way. Just… things people say."
Hena frowned slightly, defensive.
— "Things? Like what? My life's already exposed enough without people adding to it."
Daniel shrugged.
— "That your mom is… absent. That you've lived alone with her forever. That it's complicated."
Silence. Hena pressed her lips together.
— "And what do you want? Pity?"
— "No," he said calmly. "I just want you to know I get it. A little."
She raised an eyebrow, skeptical. He continued, his eyes now fixed on the table:
— "My mom died when I was ten. Overdose. She relapsed and no one knew. My dad acted like she never existed. And me, I learned to live with the emptiness."
He smiled, without warmth.
— "People tell you to 'move on.' But there's no page to turn. There's just a hole in the book. And you learn to read around it."
Hena froze. She hadn't expected that. Not such a raw confession. Not from him.
— "I'm sorry," she whispered, genuinely.
— "No need. That's not why I'm telling you. I don't want pity either."
He looked up at her. His gaze was different. Less sharp. Less cold. More real.
— "It's just… I know what it feels like. Coming home and knowing nothing will ever really get better."
A long silence wrapped around them, but this time it wasn't uncomfortable. It was soft. Almost soothing.
Hena breathed slowly. She felt lighter. She didn't fully understand him, but for the first time, she didn't feel watched like some strange animal. She felt seen. Just seen.
— "I think I misjudged you," she said quietly. "You're not so…"
— "Disturbed? Cold? Arrogant? Completely out of touch?"
She smiled faintly.
— "I was going to say 'closed off.'"
He let out a small laugh, genuine this time.
— "It's a good start."
They stayed there a while longer, talking. Nothing too deep. Just enough to break a barrier. And when Bérénice came back with two slices of cake, she found them different. Not changed—but closer. A crack that had sealed. Or another that had opened.
Daniel, for his part, watched Hena from the corner of his eye as she tasted the cake. A quiet smile tugged at his lips. He tilted his head slightly, as if confirming something.
It's on. The machine's running.
She's starting to open up to me.
He sank his spoon into his slice, his gaze once again a little darker—but satisfied.
As the sun began to set, painting the sky in shades of orange, Daniel glanced at the time on his phone. He stood up calmly, pushing his chair back into place with an almost overly precise motion.
— "I have to go. My father's expecting me for dinner. He hates being kept waiting—especially when it comes to 'family traditions,'" he said with a hint of irony.
His eyes flicked briefly to Hena, then to Bérénice. A simple nod—polite but distant. Then he walked off, hands in his pockets, his silhouette slowly blending into the crowd on the boulevard.
Bérénice watched him go, then immediately turned her attention to Hena, a sly smile tugging at her lips, full of unspoken implications.
— "Well… now that mister's gone, you're going to tell me. Everything."
— "Tell you what?"
— "Oh, come on. I saw how he looked at you—and how you answered. That wasn't nothing. Come on. Let's hit the mall, and you spill while we try on clothes. I'll buy you an ice cream if you're honest."
Hena rolled her eyes, but a soft laugh escaped her anyway. She grabbed her bag.
— "You always find an excuse to drag me on your shopping sprees."
— "It's my sacred mission. Forcing you to be a normal teenager at least once a week."
They left the café together, their shadows stretching across the still-warm cobblestones. And as the city gently came to life around them, Hena—bit by bit—started to talk. About what Daniel had said. What he hadn't said. What she'd felt, too.
Just a little.
Only a little.