The moment Clara Lysandra sat down at the table, the quiet background chatter of the dessert shop's patio died instantly.
It wasn't a slow hushing. It was sudden. Total. Complete. Like a conductor had abruptly cut off an orchestra mid-note.
Every head turned. Every conversation stopped. Every pair of eyes fixed on the two figures at the secluded corner table.
A wave of quiet, frantic murmurs immediately filled the void. Spreading like wildfire.
"Who is that guy?"
"Wait... is that Clara Lysandra? With a boy? Actually sitting with a boy?"
"No way. That can't be true. Don't you know? She's the Ice Queen. She doesn't even look at guys. She rejected the duke's son last month."
"So doesn't that just prove it? The reason she's so cold to everyone else is because she already has someone! It makes perfect sense!"
Clap.
A boy at a nearby table slapped his forehead with both hands. Dawning, tragic realization spreading across his face.
