Saturday morning arrived with a layer of thick, grey mist that clung to the coastline like a damp blanket. At 8:54 AM, Clara stood at the entrance of the Old City Pier, her boots clicking against the weathered wood. She was clutching a clipboard and wearing a yellow raincoat that made her look like a very organized lemon.
At 8:55 AM, a bike skidded to a halt beside her.
Kai hopped off, breathing hard, his hair windblown and damp from the fog. He checked his watch, then looked at her with a triumphant, breathless grin. "Eight-fifty-five. I believe I believe I owe you... absolutely nothing, because I am perfectly on time."
Clara tried to keep her face stony, but a tiny twitch at the corner of her mouth betrayed her. "Don't get used to the victory, Kai. It's a 60% day. We have a list. We need three interviews and at least five high-quality shots of the morning fishermen."
Kai locked his bike and slung his camera over his shoulder. "Aye, aye, Captain. Lead the way."
The pier was a world of its own. It smelled of brine, diesel, and old wood. Men in heavy orange bibs were hauling crates of silver-scaled fish, their voices gruff as they shouted over the crying gulls. Clara approached a fisherman with a clipboard held out like a shield.
"Excuse me, sir? We're from Evergreen Heights Academy. Would you mind answering a few questions about the socio-economic impact of the declining crab population?"
The man didn't even look up. "Busy, kid. Go ask the tourists."
Clara blinked, her face flushing. She tried again with another worker, but she was treated like a ghost—invisible and in the way. After the fourth rejection, she retreated to a bench, her neat notes looking mocking in the gray light.
"They won't talk to me," she whispered, her voice tight with frustration. "I have the questions prepared. I have the school authorization letter. Why won't they just follow the script?"
Kai, who had been leaning against a piling and watching her quietly, stepped forward. He didn't have a clipboard. He didn't even have his camera out yet.
"You're treating them like data points, Clara," he said gently. "They aren't numbers in your GPA. They're tired. They've been up since 3:00 AM."
He walked over to a grizzled man sitting alone at the very end of the pier, mending a tangled nylon net. Kai didn't ask a question. He just sat down on the wood nearby, pulled a thermos from his bag, and poured a cup of coffee. He offered it to the man without a word.
The fisherman looked at the cup, then at Kai. He took it.
Ten minutes passed. Clara watched from a distance, her foot tapping impatiently. Then, she saw the man gesture toward the sea. He started talking. He wasn't just answering questions; he was telling a story. Kai listened, nodding, only pulling his camera out once to take a single, candid shot of the man's weathered, scarred hands.
When Kai walked back to Clara, he had a scrap of paper with a name and a phone number on it.
"That's Elias," Kai said. "He's been fishing these waters for fifty years. He said his grandfather built the original lighthouse. He's happy to do a full interview next Tuesday if we bring him some of that 'fancy' dark roast coffee from The Inkwell."
Clara stared at the note. "How did you do that? I had a formal introduction."
"I didn't lead with what I wanted from him," Kai explained. "I led with what he needed—a break and someone to actually listen. That's the 40%, Clara. You have to find the rhythm of the person before you can ask for their perspective."
Clara looked at the fisherman, then back at Kai. For a moment, the mist seemed to thin, and the sharp, clinical edges of her world felt a little softer. She realized that for all her academic honors, Kai knew something about the world that she hadn't even considered.
"Okay," she said softly, taking the note and tucking it into her clipboard. "Elias. Tuesday. 30% day?"
Kai smiled, and this time it wasn't a challenge or a tease. it was something warmer. "Thirty percent. But since we're ahead of schedule, maybe we can spend the next ten percent getting breakfast? My treat."
Clara looked at her watch. She should go home and study. She should organize her notes.
"Twenty minutes," she said, adjusting her yellow hood. "But only if we go somewhere with actual chairs."
"Deal," Kai laughed, and as they walked off the pier together, the silence between them didn't feel like a barrier anymore. It felt like a start.