The glass doors of *L'Aube* swung open with a heavy, silent grace, sealing out the frantic noise of the city. This was Nia's favorite kind of luxury: the kind that bought you silence.
The restaurant-cafeteria was an airy space of white marble, pale wood, and floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out onto a manicured courtyard. It was expensive enough to keep the lunch-rush crowds at bay, serving as a sanctuary for those willing to pay twenty dollars for a sandwich if it meant they could hear their own thoughts.
Nia smoothed the fabric of her skirt, feeling a quiet sense of pride. A month ago, she would have felt too intimidated to walk in here alone. Today, she was taking herself out on a date.
She was headed toward a small table near the back when she saw him.
Thorne.
He was tucked into a booth near the window, and he looked entirely out of place. Usually, Thorne carried himself with a sharp, guarded edges—all dark coats and a "don't touch" aura. Here, amidst the pastel macarons and sunlight, he looked like a shadow caught in a jewelry box.
He wasn't alone. Across from him sat a young girl, perhaps fourteen, wearing the crisp navy blazer of the prestigious Saint Jude's Academy just down the block. Her hair was pulled into a high, bouncy ponytail, and she was currently gesturing animatedly with a fork toward a giant plate of chocolate-drizzled waffles.
"I'm telling you, Thorne, if you don't try the matcha foam, you've basically wasted your life," the girl's voice drifted across the quiet room.
Thorne leaned back, his arms crossed over his chest. He looked pained, yet strangely patient. "I have a coffee, Maya. It's black. It's fine."
"It's depressing," she shot back. "You're depressing. Look at where we are! Smile! Use a napkin!"
Nia watched as Thorne sighed—a deep, weary sound—and reluctantly reached for a napkin, dabbing at a nonexistent crumb on the table. He looked like a man who had been dragged there under the threat of a lawsuit, or perhaps something more powerful: a younger sister's whim.
Nia paused. For a second, her instinct was to wave or head over. There was a strange, fluttering warmth in her chest at seeing this softer, domestic side of him. But then, she caught herself.
*This is your time, Nia,* she reminded herself.
She looked at Thorne again. He was listening to Maya now, his head tilted slightly, his eyes softening in a way Nia had never seen before. It was a private moment. If she went over, the dynamic would change. He would put his guard back up; she would become the "observed" instead of the "observer."
Stepping back quietly, Nia signaled to the hostess. She pointed to a secluded corner table on the opposite side of the restaurant, shielded by a large, leafy fiddle-leaf fig tree.
"Over there, please," Nia whispered.
She settled into the velvet chair, positioned so that her back was partially to them. She could still see the top of Thorne's dark head if she leaned an inch to the left, but he wouldn't see her unless he went looking.
She opened her book and ordered a hibiscus tea and a tartlet that looked like a work of art. As she waited, she realized she wasn't hiding out of embarrassment or fear. She was hiding because she valued her own peace today more than the thrill of a chance encounter.
A few minutes later, a peal of laughter erupted from Maya's table. Nia didn't look up, but she smiled into her tea. She could imagine Thorne's expression—the fake annoyance, the hidden affection.
She picked up her fork and took the first bite of her dessert. It was tart, sweet, and perfectly cold.
*I'm glad he's having a good day,* she thought, turning a page in her book. *And I'm glad I am, too.*
She spent the next hour in beautiful, expensive isolation, loving herself enough to let the world happen around her without feeling the need to jump into the middle of it. When she finally paid her bill and slipped out the side exit, she didn't look back. She didn't need him to see her to know that she existed. For the first time in a long time, knowing it herself was enough.