Familiar Strangers

The café was quiet. Rain tapped gently on the glass windows, soft enough to feel poetic. Kayha stirred her coffee absentmindedly, the warmth of the cup grounding her in a world that no longer felt steady. She'd spent the day trying to forget Jace Cola's piercing gaze and the way it had stirred something she hadn't felt in years,if ever.

She came here every Thursday after the bookshop, needing the stillness. But today… today something was off. Maybe it was her racing thoughts or how the bell above the door jingled too sharply when someone walked in.

She didn't look up. She didn't want to. Not when her heart was still battling with the aftershocks of their brief, electric meeting.

"I didn't know this place still had regulars," a deep voice said above her.

She blinked.

That voice.

No. No way.

Her head jerked up before she could stop herself,and there he was.

Jace Cola.

In a hoodie, no suit, no mask of arrogance. Just raw, annoyed… and somehow still breathtaking.

"You…" she muttered, caught in between confusion and disbelief.

His brows furrowed. "You're the girl from the party."

She blinked again.

"You're the guy who ruined it," she shot back before she could stop herself.

A twitch of amusement passed through his face. "That's new. Most people just pretend they weren't looking."

"I wasn't," she lied.

He pulled out the chair opposite her. Without asking.

She should've told him no. Should've gathered her things and left.

But she didn't.

"Are you stalking me?" he asked, voice cool.

She scoffed. "Are you stalking me?"

"You're in my café."

"I've been coming here for years."

"Me too," he said, almost smug. "Funny we never ran into each other."

A beat passed.

"You followed me," he continued. "After the party."

Kayha's eyes narrowed. "Excuse me?"

"I saw you walk out. Then I saw you again. Near the hallway. Same eyes. Same shoes. You were watching me."

"I wasn't" she paused, flustered. "That hallway leads to the ladies' room."

He grinned. "Sure it does."

She bit her lip, trying not to scream. "You're so full of yourself."

"Maybe. But I'm usually right."

"I wasn't following you," she said firmly. "I was running away."

A pause.

That wiped the smirk off his face.

"You always run?"

Kayha looked out the window. Her reflection looked back worn, tired, beautiful in a way only scars can make you.

"Only when I'm scared."

Silence stretched between them, and for a moment, the rain sounded louder.

Then he said, "What scares you?"

She turned back to him. "People who ask too many questions."

He nodded. "Fair. But I'm not most people."

"That," she said, standing, "is exactly the problem."

She left before he could stop her, pulse hammering in her ears.

She didn't see the way his expression changed,how curiosity curled into something warmer, something deeper.

Outside, the rain had stopped, but inside her, a storm had begun.

And she had no idea if she wanted it to pass or consume her whole.

****************

The satin curtains shimmered under the soft glow of the chandelier as Kayha walked into the living room. Her mother stood by the tall windows, holding two rolls of fabric in each hand,one royal blue, the other a dull gold.

"Which one do you prefer?" her mother asked without looking back. Her voice was calm, practised, and too polite to be natural.

Kayha hesitated, removing her heels silently. "For what?"

"The fundraiser. Your stepfather wants the entire hall redecorated."

Kayha let her bag drop on the velvet settee. "Does he ever want anything that doesn't scream power?"

"He wants things perfect," her mother said quietly. Then she turned, eyes calm but assessing. "We need to talk."

Kayha's shoulders tensed. "We're already talking."

"This is different." Her mother's eyes softened, but not with affection,more like calculation softened by years of pretending. "There's someone your father wants you to meet."

That word again. Father. As if.

Kayha's jaw clenched. "I'm not meeting anyone."

"You haven't even heard what I have to say."

"I don't need to."

Her mother set the fabric down, every movement precise. "He's respectable. From a good family. Old money. It's just a conversation."

"It's never just a conversation," Kayha shot back. "It's an arrangement. A transaction you are dressing in gold."

"You're being dramatic," her mother said, folding the golden fabric with deliberate care. "We all make sacrifices for the life we want."

Kayha scoffed. "No. You made sacrifices for the life *you* wanted. And I have spent my whole life living in the shadow of those choices."

There was silence. Heavy, stretching.

Her mother walked to the bar cart and poured herself a glass of wine. "He is flying in next week. Just have dinner with him."

"I don't want to be anyone's business deal."

"You are not," her mother said, sipping. "You're an opportunity."

The words hit harder than they were meant to. Or maybe, exactly as they were meant to.

Without another word, Kayha turned and walked out of the room. Her feet moved on their own, away from the silk and coldness and curated smiles of the mansion.

Outside, the air was cool and sharp. She walked with no destination, the night swallowing her heels' clicks.

All the questions she never asked about her mother's distance, her father's silence, and her own place in this glass castle rushed in at once.

Maybe she was broken. Or maybe she was just awake.

She didn't want perfect. She wanted *real*. Messy, honest, painful real.

And right now, she had none of it.

But maybe,just maybe,that was about to change

She pulled her phone out and hovered her thumb over one name,the last person she expected to think about tonight.

************

Kayha sat stiffly at the edge of her bed, her mother's words still ringing in her head like a warning bell.

"You'll marry him, Kayha. It's already been arranged."

Arranged. Like she was some antique furniture being sold to the highest bidder.

Her fingers trembled as she unlocked her phone and typed quickly.

Kayha:Dorian, I need to leave. Tonight. Please.

He didn't ask why. He never did.

Dorian:Meet me by the garden gate. Twenty minutes. Be quiet.

That's why she trusted him. Dorian didn't need explanations to stand by her. He just... showed up.

She packed in silence: a worn hoodie, her journal, a few notes, and all the cash she had. Her eyes burned with frustration, with confusion. This wasn't just rebellion. This was survival.

She crept down the back stairs of the house like a shadow, silent and fast. Her mother's voice still echoed from the main room, too focused on event preparations to notice Kayha slipping into the night.

Outside, the garden smelled of lavender and wet grass. The gate creaked open. And there he was Dorian, hoodie pulled over his head, waiting like he always did when things went wrong.

"Come on," he said.

No questions. Just presence.

They took off through the dark street, Kayha's breath catching, her mind racing. It wasn't until they reached the alley behind Dorian's uncle's old bookshop that she finally slowed down.

"Thanks," she whispered, hand still gripping the strap of her bag like a lifeline.

But then,

A low voice echoed from the shadows.

"You really thought you could just disappear?"

Kayha froze.

Dorian turned sharply.

A tall figure stepped forward, casual but calculated.

Jace.

Standing with his hands in his pockets like he hadn't just sent her entire nervous system into overdrive.

"You?" she breathed.

He tilted his head. "Didn't peg you for the runaway type."

"Why are you here?" Dorian asked sharply.

Jace didn't answer him. His eyes were on her ,only her. And something in that gaze felt... dangerous.

Kayha's chest rose and fell rapidly. This was bad.

"I said," Jace took a step closer, voice low, dark, "are you stalking me, princess?"

She stiffened. "Excuse me?"

"You just keep showing up," he said, smirking. "Funny how life works."

And in that moment, Kayha realized something chilling.

He hadn't bumped into them.

He had followed her.