Liana’s POV
The café smells like burnt espresso and rain. It’s the kind of place no one looks at twice it’s quiet and tucked behind a bus terminal, the air thick with diesel and old music. That’s probably why she chose it.
Elia sits in the corner booth, facing the door. Her hair is shorter now, dyed a pale ash that almost hides the darker roots. She wears a loose coat, collar up, as if she’s still hiding from the world even while sitting still.
I stand in the doorway for a moment, just watching her.
Fifteen years. I’d rehearsed this meeting in my mind so many times that the real thing feels wrong. When I finally walk over, her eyes lift and the world stops moving.
“Liana.” The way she says my name makes my chest tighten. Her voice is softer, lower, but it has the same rhythm like she’
