The rain had stopped an hour ago, but the city still shimmered like it hadn't let go.
Mara sat by the café window; hands wrapped around a warm cup of coffee she didn't finish. The world outside moved as it always did — impatient, loud, alive. But in here, everything was quieter. Slower. Still.
She liked this part of the afternoon — not quite day, not quite night. A liminal space. A waiting room between who you were and who you might become.
And then the door opened.
She didn't look right away. Just a soft glance. But that was all it took.
Her breath caught.
Elián.
He stood in the doorway like he'd walked through years to get here. Like he wasn't sure it was real. His eyes searched the café, then landed on her — and stopped.
For a heartbeat, everything in her went silent.
The cup in her hand, the steady rhythm of the clock on the wall, the low hum of indie music — all of it blurred.
He looked… older. More tired around the eyes. But still him.
Still, the one she waited for, long after she told herself she wasn't waiting anymore.
She didn't smile. Didn't move.
She just let him see her — really see her.
"Mara," he said softly, walking over.
"Elián," she replied, voice calm. Controlled.
"I wasn't sure it was you."
"It is."
"I looked for you."
"I know."
"I thought…" He swallowed. "I thought you disappeared for good."
"I almost did."
He looked like he didn't know where to begin. His hands twitched like he wanted to reach for something but didn't know if he still had the right.
"I had to leave," she said.
"I know."
"I couldn't stay and keep choosing someone who wouldn't choose me."
He nodded, slowly. "I wasn't ready."
She met his gaze. "I was."
For a while, they didn't say anything. The café moved on without them — baristas calling names, people laughing in booths, the world still turning.
But between them was something else.
Something unfinished.
"I kept dreaming of you," he murmured. "Even after everything. Even when I tried not to."
Her lips parted slightly, but no words came.
"Sometimes it felt like I missed a whole life with you."
"You did," she said, quietly.
He looked down. "I know I don't deserve another chance."
She stayed silent.
"But I'd take it, if it was offered."
She looked at him — really looked. And something inside her ached.
Not the old ache. A quieter one. The kind that comes from knowing how far someone had to travel just to stand in front of you.
"I don't know," she whispered. "I don't know what this is anymore."
The bell above the café door rang again.
And then —
"Mara?"
Jace.
She turned her head slowly.
There he was, standing by the entrance, holding a small paper bag — her favourite lemon loaf, probably. His eyes darted between her and Elián, and she felt it instantly: the shift in the room. The fracture.
Elián stepped back slightly. His jaw tensed, but he didn't say anything.
Jace walked toward them, cautious. "Didn't expect to see you here," he said to Elián. His voice was polite — but clipped.
"Same," Elián replied, eyes flicking briefly to Mara. "It's been a while."
"Yeah," Jace said, looking at them both now. "Looks like it has."
Mara stood between them, the silence pressing in too closely. Her chest tightened — not out of guilt, not even confusion — but because she could feel something ending before it even began.
She took a breath. "We were just talking."
Jace gave a small nod, but his expression was unreadable. "Right."
Elián stepped back a little more, giving her space.
"I should go."
Mara didn't stop him. But before he turned fully, she said softly, "Elián?"
He looked back.
"I dreamed of you too."
He held her gaze for one long second — like he wanted to stay. Like he knew he couldn't.
Then he walked out into the street, and the door closed behind him with a quiet finality.
Mara sat down again; the warmth of the cup long gone. Jace slid into the seat across from her, quiet, unsure.
But her eyes stayed on the door.
On the ghost that became real for a moment.
On the maybe she thought she buried.
And as the city outside rushed forward, Mara stayed still.
Not heartbroken. Not angry.
Just wondering.
If time can ever be right… twice