A shiver ran through Elira before she even saw him. She felt him, an intrusion in the air, a ripple through the soft, golden hush of the restaurant. She did not turn right away. Instead, she let her eyes trace the curve of her wine glass, the silken fall of her own hair against her wrist. Her pulse fluttered, slow and sweet.
The city outside was awash with rain, each passing car throwing ribbons of red and gold across the pavement. She watched the reflections smear and pool, a hundred stories flickering against the windows, each one just out of reach. The low hum of traffic blended with the gentle clatter of dishes, the air thick with steam and the scent of something rich and savoury drifting from the kitchen. A couple near the door laughed over a plate of oysters; a group of women in sharp suits leaned close, their voices rising and falling like birdsong.
Elira drank in every detail. The flicker of a candle guttering against the draft. The faint perfume of jasmine from the table behind her. She caught herself mapping exits, noting the swing of the kitchen door, the way the bartender dried glasses in measured, methodical strokes. It was a habit, half survival, half performance. The restaurant became a stage, each patron cast for their own private scene.
She had chosen the table by the window for the way it caught the light. Outside, the city shimmered in wet reflections, a thousand tiny lights dancing on the black gloss of the street. Inside, everything felt just a little unreal. She wondered if the whole world was watching her or if she was alone in a dream spun from candlelight and polished silver.
Then she felt his gaze, a clean, precise presence. The kind of attention that weighed and measured. She waited, soaking in the electric hum that built between them. Her skin prickled with anticipation. Not fear. Not quite desire, either. It was closer to the sensation before a storm breaks: charged, silent, necessary.
She let her lips curve into the hint of a smile, a promise only she could see. She could almost taste the lines of the script unfolding in her mind: girl in black, boy in shadow, the world's edges blurring as they draw near. Tonight, she was every role she had ever played and yet nothing at all, a blank page trembling with possibility.
She wondered, briefly, if anyone in the restaurant was truly present. Did they notice her, the woman alone at a window, or did they see only another empty seat waiting to be filled? Her reflection shivered in the glass, layered atop the lights of the street and the storm outside. She liked the feeling, being there and not-there, real and not-real, her existence suspended between anticipation and memory.
When she finally allowed herself to look up, she found him just a few steps away. Tall, composed, with ruby eyes that missed nothing, and a soft silvery white bed of hair that seemed to magically part to the sides. She drank in the angles of his face, the quiet intelligence behind his movements. Even his hesitation was measured. It thrilled her. He was here. He was real. The dream sharpened to a point.
Their eyes met, and the world contracted to a single thread stretched between them. Elira felt herself smile, gentle and welcoming, though her heart beat wildly beneath her skin.
"Aiden?" she asked, letting her voice drift soft and sweet, a ribbon tossed across the space between.
She heard her own name spill from his lips, almost an incantation. Elira. The sound threaded through her, lighting her nerves. She let herself smile more openly now, arranging her lips into the shape of easy charm while hiding the hunger underneath.
Every movement became deliberate. She let her hand drift to her glass, fingers grazing the stem, then back to her lap, as if testing which gesture felt truest. Was she meant to play the ingenue, or the mysterious lover, or something new altogether? She watched Aiden, searching for the smallest flicker of uncertainty in his ruby gaze, the brief catch of breath or tilt of head that might reveal the man beneath that striking, impossible exterior.
He sat with unhurried precision, choosing the seat that kept his back to the wall. A small detail. It made her want to laugh. So careful, so aware, as if this was a test only he could pass. His presence settled across the table, cold and clean, yet somehow inviting.
Elira wondered, fleetingly, what kind of girl he wanted her to be. She knew the shapes men liked: soft-spoken and clever, attentive but not desperate, beautiful but never too aware of it. She could be all of these, if she wished. But with Aiden, the temptation was to drop all pretence and meet him with her truest, wildest self. She hesitated, teetering on the edge of performance and honesty.
"I hope I didn't keep you waiting," she said, her voice as light as the glow of the streetlights outside. She wondered if he could hear the echo of want, the subtle tremor of anticipation beneath her words.
He shook his head, his gaze never slipping from hers. "Not at all."
For a moment, they simply looked at each other, the conversation unspoken. Elira felt the world around them recede, the clink of cutlery, the low laughter from the bar, the gentle sigh of rain against glass, until there was only Aiden, luminous and strange and impossibly close.
She studied the line of his jaw, the cool certainty of his posture, as if every muscle had been chosen with care. He seemed unhurried, neither nervous nor arrogant. She wondered if he ever fidgeted, if he ever let himself be awkward in public, or if he wore this mask even when he was alone.
Aiden's voice was velvet-smooth, edged with something clinical. "It's a beautiful night."
Elira let her fingers toy with the rim of her glass, drawing circles, watching the water quiver. "It feels like a painting. Sometimes I think the world looks back at us, just to see what we'll do."
He gave a faint, inscrutable smile. The restaurant's glow reflected in his eyes, turning them deeper, stranger. For a heartbeat, Elira wanted to lean forward and ask him what he saw when he looked at her. Did he see through her, or did he only see what she wanted him to see?
Instead, she offered a gentle, deliberate question. "What brings you out tonight, Aiden?" Her voice was low, intimate, as if they shared a secret already.
He met her gaze without a blink. "Curiosity," he said. "And you?"
She considered her answer, then let honesty and performance blur together. "Hope, maybe. Or just the wish for something that doesn't feel empty."
He looked at her a moment longer, as if weighing her words for some hidden meaning. "It's a rare thing, finding something that feels real."
She let a small laugh slip, light and breathless. "Maybe it is. But I still look. Otherwise, what's the point?"
Aiden's lips twitched, and for a split second she wondered if he was about to confess something. Instead, he leaned back, hands folded on the table.
"You don't seem like someone who's easily fooled," he said, tone level. "Do you always chase the impossible?"
Elira let her gaze drift away, pretending to study the raindrops on the glass, but really watching him from the corner of her eye. "Only when it's worth it."
He smiled, just barely. "And is tonight worth it?"
She paused, letting the question hang in the air like perfume. "I suppose I'll find out." Her voice was velvet, but inside, her heart was beating out a frantic, hopeful rhythm.
Elira felt a wild thrill beneath her composure, a need to break the tension or let it wrap around her tighter. She smiled, softer now, and let herself believe in the dream for one more breath.
She let her gaze linger on his face, searching for any break in that perfect calm. Aiden's eyes reflected the golden lamplight, turning the ruby depths almost black. Elira wanted to ask him everything. She wanted to peel him apart, to find the trembling pulse beneath all that restraint, to see if he could ever lose control for her.
Instead, she leaned forward just a fraction, lowering her voice. "You seem like someone who's used to watching. Do you ever let yourself be seen?"
He did not flinch. His lips curved, almost into a smile, but he offered nothing more. "Sometimes. If the company is right."
Elira felt the answer wrap around her like silk, both invitation and deflection. She wondered if he would ever let her past the outer layers. She wondered if she could bear to let him see her, truly see her, if it meant losing the safety of her mask.
A brief hush settled between them, thick with everything unsaid. Elira watched the rain slide down the window beside her, feeling her heart beat out a pattern that was not quite anxiety, not quite hope. She thought of her manager's warning, distant and absurd now: Be careful with men you meet at night. Elira almost laughed. She was the dangerous one, wasn't she?
She opened her mouth, searching for a new way to press him, when she caught movement at the edge of her vision. The waitress hovered just beyond the reach of their private world, carefully balancing a tray and a polite, professional smile.
Elira watched her approach in slow motion, noticing the way her shoes squeaked on the tiles, the glimmer of nervousness behind her eyes. The woman glanced at Aiden, then at Elira, and for a brief second Elira imagined she could see herself through the waitress's eyes: too poised, too still, a little too hungry.
The waitress appeared at their table, menu in hand, her smile bright and practised.
"Can I get you two started with anything to drink?" the waitress asked, pen poised above her notepad.
The interruption was almost jarring. Elira's reverie splintered, the world tumbling back into colour and sound. She looked up, her smile a shield now, every inch the graceful starlet she pretended not to be. Yet her eyes lingered on the waitress, a flicker of warning, or was it longing for secrecy, shadowing her gaze.
She smoothed the tablecloth beneath her palm, buying a heartbeat of time. She thought of ordering something daring, something sweet or sharp enough to shock him, but at the last moment she glanced at Aiden, letting him take the lead. She wondered if the waitress could sense the current between them, if anyone could.
Before she could answer, Aiden stepped up to control the situation.