Elowen noticed him watching her again.
Not in an uncomfortable way.
Not like someone measuring her worth with his eyes.
It was quieter than that.
She closed her notebook slowly and rested her fingers on the cover. "You're staring," she said, not accusing just stating a fact.
Dan Amar didn't deny it. "You write like you're afraid the words might escape."
Her brows lifted slightly. "And you observe like you're afraid to miss something."
That caught him off guard.
Most people tried to impress him. Others tried to understand him. Very few ever reflected him back to himself.
"You don't seem like the type to sit with strangers," he said.
"I don't," Elowen replied. "But today felt like a sit-with-strangers kind of day."
Silence stretched between them not awkward, just thoughtful. Outside, cars passed. Life moved on. Inside the café, something slower was unfolding.
"What do you write?" he asked.
She hesitated. "Things I don't say."
He nodded. "That makes sense."
She studied him now, really studied him. His calm wasn't rehearsed. His confidence wasn't loud. There was something restrained about him, like a man who had learned the cost of speaking too much.
"And you?" she asked. "What do you do?"
"A lot," he answered honestly. "But none of it feels like living."
That surprised her enough to make her smile.
"Then why keep doing it?"
"Because stopping feels dangerous."
Elowen leaned back in her chair. "That's funny."
"I didn't mean it to be."
"I know." She paused. "That's why it is."
For a moment, Dan Amar felt exposed. He wasn't used to conversations that slipped under his armor so easily.
"I'm Elowen," she said finally.
"Dan Amar."
She repeated it softly, like she was testing how it felt on her tongue. "Unusual."
"So I've been told."
Another pause. Then she glanced at the clock on the wall and sighed. "I should go."
Disappointment flickered through him before he could stop it.
"Will I see you again?" he asked, surprising himself with how much he wanted the answer.
Elowen stood, slinging her bag over her shoulder. She looked at him for a long moment long enough for something unspoken to pass between them.
"I come here every Tuesday," she said.
Then she walked away.
Dan Amar stayed seated long after she left, her words echoing in his mind.
Every Tuesday.
For the first time in years, he rearranged his schedule without hesitation.
And he didn't know it yet but he had just agreed to the slowest, most dangerous thing of all.
Hope.