-— Vienna's Light
After eating breakfast Rayyan wanted to Dee outside but heavy rain start and Dee says that she need some time to get ready .
The rain had finally stopped by late afternoon, leaving Vienna bathed in a soft golden haze. The streets glistened like polished marble, catching the glow of antique streetlamps that were just beginning to flicker on. Rayyan led Dee through the cobblestone alleyways, his gloved hand resting lightly on her back as if afraid she might vanish into the mist if he let go.
She still wasn't speaking much, and he could feel the distance in her—like a shadow she carried—but that didn't stop him from trying.
"Almost there," he said quietly, guiding her toward a wrought-iron gate framed by climbing roses still wet from the rain. Beyond it, the slope of a hill rolled upward, and the air smelled faintly of damp earth and roasting chestnuts from somewhere down the street.
Dee followed him up the path, her boots crunching against the damp gravel. The city's heartbeat—its trams, its chatter—faded behind them until only the whisper of wind through trees remained. At the crest of the hill, the world opened.
The view stretched endlessly before them—Vienna in all her grandeur, rooftops like terracotta waves, church spires piercing the evening sky, and the Danube River winding like a silver ribbon through it all. The fading light turned the city into a painting, every color softened but alive.
Rayyan didn't look at the city. He looked at her.
"I wanted you to see this," he said, his voice low but certain. "Because no matter what… you deserve to stand somewhere beautiful."
She didn't answer, just stared at the view, her fingers curling around the railing. Her chest felt tight. He didn't know it, but this sight hurt her in a way she couldn't explain—because beauty, to her, had always felt temporary.
The wind caught her hair, lifting strands across her face. Rayyan reached out instinctively, brushing them back. His hand lingered against her cheek for a moment longer than it should have.
"You're cold," he murmured.
"I'm fine," she replied, though her voice cracked on the last word.
He didn't push her. Instead, he stepped closer, his shoulder almost brushing hers as they looked out together. Below them, the city lights began to shimmer against the river's surface, like stars had fallen into the water.
"You know…" he began, his tone lighter now, "Vienna is a city of contradictions. Elegant on the surface, but underneath… a place where art was born from rebellion. Where music was written by people who were completely misunderstood."
Dee glanced at him, catching the faint smile on his lips. "Sounds familiar," she said softly.
His smile deepened, but only for a second. Then he reached into his coat and pulled out a small paper container. "I had to charm my way into getting this," he said, offering it to her.
She raised a brow. "If this is cake, I'm walking back to the hotel."
"Relax," he said, smirking. "I know you hate sweet things. This—" he flicked the lid open "—is käsekrainer. Sausage stuffed with just enough cheese and spices to make it a crime in ten countries."
The warm, smoky scent drifted up, making her stomach grumble. She bit back a smile and took a piece. "Not bad."
"Not bad?" he repeated, mock-offended. "That's the highest culinary honor in Austria."
She chewed slowly, savoring the spice that wasn't too sharp but enough to make her lips tingle. "Fine. It's good. Happy?"
"Ecstatic," he said, but his eyes softened as he watched her eat.
They sat on the bench near the railing, sharing the sausage in companionable silence. She tried not to notice the way his hand brushed hers every time he passed her a piece, but each touch sparked something unfamiliar—warmth, but edged with fear.
After a while, she spoke—her voice barely above a whisper. "Why are you really doing all this?"
He hesitated. The truth burned in his chest, but he knew if he spoke too plainly, she might turn away. "Because I want you to know that there's more to this world than running… than fighting… than the things that keep us awake at night."
Her eyes flickered to his, searching for something. "And what if I don't deserve it?"
"You do," he said without hesitation. "Even if you don't believe it yet."
The silence that followed wasn't heavy—it was fragile, like glass that could shatter if either of them moved too fast.
Then, from somewhere in the old part of the city, the sound of a violin drifted up—soft, slow, almost mournful. It carried in the cold air, wrapping around them like an invisible thread. Dee closed her eyes, letting the music pull her somewhere else.
Rayyan leaned back, his gaze never leaving her. In that moment, he didn't care about the secrets she held, or the walls she built. He only cared about this—her, here, with him, against a backdrop of gold and shadows.
When she opened her eyes again, the city was glowing fully now, every streetlamp casting halos in the mist. The sight almost hurt—it was too beautiful for the ache in her chest.
"Come," Rayyan said suddenly, standing and offering her his hand.
She hesitated but took it. He led her down a narrow path that wound through a vineyard sloping along the hillside. The air was colder here, and their steps were quiet except for the crunch of gravel. At the bottom, they emerged into a small courtyard strung with warm fairy lights, where a tavern spilled golden light into the night.
They sat at a table outside, a heater glowing beside them. A waiter brought a platter of warm goulash, fragrant with paprika and herbs, the sauce rich but not too spicy.
"This place," Rayyan said, gesturing around, "was where I used to come when I… needed to think. I thought maybe you could use it too."
Dee dipped her spoon into the stew, tasting the warmth that spread instantly through her chest. "Better than cake," she said quietly.
Rayyan grinned. "High praise from you."
They ate slowly, talking little, but for the first time in days, Dee didn't feel the urge to run.
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