The rain had eased by morning, leaving the city washed in a crisp brightness. Along the Ciliwung River, a small café nestled between old colonial-style buildings and modern glass offices. Its terrace overlooked the slow, brown water, where leaves and fragments of the city's restless life drifted past.
Eland'orr arrived first. He chose a seat near the window, the kind that allowed him to observe both the street outside and the river beyond. His nerves hummed in quiet anticipation. He wasn't sure why he agreed so quickly to meet a stranger, but something about Freiyah's presence the night before had left an impression too sharp to ignore.
The café's warm air smelled of coffee beans and fresh bread. Students chatted at a corner table, their laughter blending with the hum of soft jazz from the speakers. It was ordinary—comfortingly so—yet Eland'orr could not shake the sense that something extraordinary was about to unfold.
The doorbell chimed.
Freiyah stepped inside, dressed simply in a white blouse and dark jeans, her damp hair from the drizzle framing her face. Yet, simplicity did nothing to hide her striking presence. Her green eyes scanned the room until they found him, and her smile—calm, assured—pulled him into her orbit once again.
"You came," she said, sliding into the seat across from him.
"You told me to," Eland'orr answered, a hint of humor in his voice.
"Sometimes, people don't listen." She rested her chin lightly on her hand, studying him with an intensity that felt almost weighty. "But you did."
He shifted, uneasy yet oddly flattered. "So… you said you've seen me at the library?"
"I have," Freiyah replied without hesitation. "You're always drawn to the mythology section. Every time."
Her certainty startled him. "You've been watching me that long?"
"Long enough to know you're different." Her smile was gentle, but her words carried a gravity he couldn't define. "Tell me, Eland'orr—why myths? Why do they matter to you?"
He hesitated, fingers tracing the rim of his cup. "I don't know. Maybe because myths feel… familiar. Like echoes of something I've forgotten."
Freiyah's gaze softened, though her eyes shimmered with something deeper, like secrets carefully guarded. "Familiarity can be a sign of truth. Sometimes the stories we call myths are simply memories the world has chosen to bury."
Her tone unsettled him. He let out a small laugh, trying to lighten the air. "That sounds like something from one of those fantasy novels."
"Or perhaps," she countered softly, "those novels are only fragments of reality."
Silence lingered. The waiter came, took their orders, and left, but the weight between them remained, as though invisible threads were tightening.
Eland'orr leaned back, trying to steady himself. "You're… different. Not just the way you talk, but the way you look at things."
"Maybe because I see more than most." Freiyah tilted her head, eyes fixed on him, unreadable. "I didn't ask you to come here by chance, Eland'orr. There's a reason."
Something in her voice made his chest tighten. "A reason?"
"You'll understand," she said, almost in a whisper. "In time."
And with that, she sipped her coffee, as if nothing unusual had been said, while outside the river kept flowing—silent witness to a meeting that was anything but ordinary.