Three days later, the city moved on as if nothing had happened.
At least, that was how it looked from outside.
Cars still rushed past. Street vendors still shouted. Students still laughed as they moved in and out of the university gates. But for Amara, nothing felt normal.
The article about her father had cooled down a little, but it hadn't disappeared. It lingered like smoke after a fire—still there, still stinging.
Her ankle was better now. She could walk, but every now and then it reminded her of the day a stranger's car almost turned her into a headline.
She stepped into her favorite café, the small one just off campus. The bell above the door chimed softly.
Warm light. The smell of coffee and pastries. Soft music in the background.
This place had always felt like a bubble, safely away from politics and cameras.
"Hey, Amara," the girl at the counter greeted. "Long time."
"Yeah," Amara replied with a small smile. "Life has been… loud."
"The usual?" the girl asked.
"Yes, please," Amara said. "And make it stronger."
She paid, then moved toward a small table by the window.
That was when she saw him.
Daniel.
He was sitting alone at a corner table, one leg stretched slightly out, a book open in front of him that he clearly wasn't reading. A half-finished drink sat beside it.
For a second, she thought maybe her mind was playing tricks on her.
Then he looked up.
Their eyes met.
He froze.
She blinked.
It was a small moment, barely a second long, but it felt like someone had just pressed pause on the entire room.
"Wow," he muttered, turning the surprise into a small smile as he stood. "Either the city is too small, or we're both being very predictable today."
She didn't know whether to roll her eyes or laugh.
In the end, she walked over to him, her drink order number in hand.
"You come here often?" she asked.
"Only when I want to look like I'm deep and mysterious while reading a book I don't understand," he said.
She looked at the open page.
The book was upside down.
"I can tell," she said dryly.
He flipped it the right way with a sheepish cough.
"Busted," he said. "Do you want to sit?"
She hesitated for a heartbeat, then pulled the chair opposite him and sat down.
"Don't read anything into this," she said. "I'm just too tired to sit alone and think about my life."
"That's a flattering reason to sit with me," he said. "I'll take it."
The barista called her number from the counter.
"I'll be back," she said.
He watched her walk to the counter, her steps no longer limping, but still careful. When she returned with her drink, she wrapped her fingers around the warm cup like she needed the heat to stay steady.
"So," he said lightly. "How's the ankle?"
"Still angry with you," she replied.
"And the rest of you?"
She took a slow sip.
"Also angry," she said. "But not with you."
"The article?" he asked.
She nodded.
"They haven't posted anything new," she said. "But the old one is still there. Comments keep appearing. People take screenshots and pass it around even after it drops from the front page."
He watched her face as she spoke. The tiredness under her eyes. The way her shoulders held tension like she was ready for another blow.
"Did your father say anything?" Daniel asked.
"He said it's an attack," she replied. "He said it's politics as usual. He keeps smiling for cameras, but when he comes home…" She shook her head. "He looks older."
"Do you… believe him?" Daniel asked quietly.
She stared into her drink.
"I believe he's not as clean as his posters say," she said. "But I also believe he's not the monster some people want him to be. I grew up watching him skip meals to attend meetings, fight with people for better budgets for schools and hospitals, come home with headaches because he couldn't fix everything."
She exhaled.
"But believing in someone doesn't mean they never disappoint you."
Daniel's fingers tightened slightly around his own cup.
"You sound like someone who's had their heart broken before," he said.
"Not romantically," she replied. "My love life is boring. But the world breaks your heart in other ways."
She looked up at him suddenly.
"What about you?" she asked. "What do you do, Daniel King who almost ran me over and then paid my bill?"
He gave a small smile.
"I work in… security," he said. "Private kind. I make sure some people's problems don't get bigger than they can handle."
It wasn't a complete lie.
"Like a bodyguard?" she asked.
"Sometimes," he said. "Sometimes I just investigate things. Look into people. Clean up messes."
"Sounds shady," she said.
"It pays the bills," he replied.
She took another sip and studied him.
"You don't look like a bad person," she said simply.
He almost choked on his drink.
"That's a dangerous thing to say about someone you barely know," he replied.
"I didn't say you aren't capable of bad things," she said. "I just said you don't… look like it."
"And what does a bad person look like?" he asked.
She thought about it for a moment, then shrugged.
"Like someone who enjoys the damage they cause," she answered. "You don't have that face."
"What face do I have?" he asked, amused.
She met his gaze.
"Like someone who's trying very hard to pretend he doesn't care," she said. "But he does."
He went quiet for a moment.
If only she knew how close she was to the truth.
He broke the silence with a lighter tone.
"So, wounded goat," he said. "Besides limping around the house and trying not to murder the internet, what have you been doing?"
"Trying to keep my mother from having a breakdown," she said. "Trying not to argue with my uncle. Trying not to ask my father questions that will make me see him differently."
She paused.
"And distracting myself," she added. "Which is why I'm here. Coffee and denial."
"You're doing well for someone in the middle of a political hurricane," he said.
"One day at a time," she said softly. "Sometimes one hour at a time."
He looked at her for a moment and made a decision.
"Then let me help you with this hour," he said. "We can make a rule. For the next… thirty minutes, no politics, no news, no mention of your father or the election."
Her lips curved a little.
"Just coffee and nonsense?" she asked.
"Exactly," he said. "Tell me something about you that no journalist could find."
She thought for a moment.
"I used to want to be a dancer," she said. "Until my dad's security almost had a heart attack when I mentioned 'stage lights' and 'crowds.'"
He laughed.
"That suits you, actually," he said. "Drama and movement."
"Your turn," she said. "Tell me something about you that Google can't find."
He leaned back, eyes on the ceiling like he was searching for an answer he hadn't already used as a lie.
"I hate elevators," he said finally. "I use them all the time, but I hate them."
"Why?" she asked.
"Small boxes," he said. "Too easy to trap someone in them. Too easy to die there."
"That is a strangely intense answer," she said. "Did something happen to you in one?"
"Let's just say I've had… bad days in closed spaces," he replied.
She watched him with new curiosity.
"Maybe I misjudged you," she said. "You look normal, but your brain is not peaceful at all."
"Is anyone's?" he asked.
For the next half hour, they talked about everything except the one thing that had brought their worlds together.
She told him about getting in trouble at school when she was younger.
He told her a softened, edited version of getting into fights as a teen.
They compared favorite food, movies, and how much they both hated loud, fake people.
By the time her cup was empty, the weight on her chest felt a little lighter.
"I should go," she said, glancing at her watch. "My mom will start calling soon."
"Do you want me to walk you to the bus stop?" he asked.
"I'm not a child," she said, then added, "but… sure."
They walked out of the café side by side.
Outside, the air was cooler.
At the bus stop, she turned to him.
"Thank you," she said.
"For what?" he asked.
"For making me forget the noise," she replied. "At least for a while."
He smiled.
"Any time," he said. "Just text me when you need a break from being Senator Williams' daughter and just want to be Amara."
She hesitated for a heartbeat, then nodded.
The bus arrived. She climbed on and found a seat by the window.
As it pulled away, she glanced out.
Daniel was still at the stop, hands in his pockets, watching her go.
Her phone buzzed.
A new message from him:
"Get home safe, dangerous wounded goat."
She shook her head, but she was smiling as she put the phone away.
She didn't know that somewhere else in the city, a different phone was ringing with a very different tone.
Clark's.
And when he picked up, Mara's voice would say:
"Daniel is getting close to the girl. Maybe closer than you planned."