The restaurant had that low, comforting buzz—soft music, hushed voices, the occasional clink of silverware. I sat by the window, stirring the condensation on my glass, watching the street outside.
She was late.
Landed. Already miss kimchi. Don't be late, or I'll fly back to Seoul and send your tuition bill via owl.
That was the text she'd sent me twenty minutes ago. Typical her—part Harry Potter, part chaos gremlin.
My mom hadn't lived with me since I was 17. Said I needed space to "grow up like a man," whatever that meant. Mostly, it was because her job kept her rooted in Korea. She only visited once or twice a year—but when she did, it was like a tornado wrapped in bubble wrap.
Loud. Sweet. Dangerous. And always carrying snacks.
"Lucian!" Her voice cut through the restaurant before her body did.
I sank lower in my seat. "God, Mom. Volume."
"There's my grown-up man!" she grinned, striding in like she owned the place, arms wide.
We hugged—tight, brief. She immediately pinched my cheek.
"Still so cute. Ugh. I hate how tall you've gotten."
"I haven't grown in years."
"Your sarcasm has."
She slid into the booth across from me and waved the waiter over like a queen summoning her court. "One iced tea, dumplings, and something painfully spicy. He'll have water and no spice. He's fragile."
"I'm not—"
"Hush, child."
I sighed, already regretting this.
"So," she said, resting her chin in her hand. "College. Classes. Physics. Teachers. Crushes?"
I blinked. "Seriously?"
"Let me live through your disasters," she said, eyes twinkling. "I'm running out of drama. Don't deny me this."
"I'm not interested in that stuff."
"Which means you definitely are."
I shook my head and turned to the window for rescue.
And there it was.
A sleek black car, rolling out from the parking lot across the street—just beside the café. Behind the wheel: her.
Daphne Mehra.
But not like this morning.
Her hair was down—sleek, smooth, not a strand out of place. She wore a fitted dark blouse tucked into high-waisted trousers, heels that tapped when she braked. She looked... terrifyingly elegant. Like she'd walked off a runway and into a boardroom.
And in the passenger seat?
A girl. Laughing, head thrown back, one arm resting on the edge of the door like she belonged there.
Daphne was laughing too. Just for a second. But it was enough to feel like I was intruding on something personal.
"What are you staring at?" Mom asked.
I turned away too quickly. "Nothing. Just… thought I recognized someone."
Her eyes narrowed like a hawk sensing prey. "Oooh. That face. I know that face. Was it a girl?"
"Mom."
"Was she pretty?"
I didn't answer.
I didn't have to.
Because I could still see her. Not just in the car. But in my head.
Laughing softly.
Tucking that strand of hair behind her ear.
Smiling like she didn't know how dangerous she was.
And I knew one thing for sure.
This wasn't over.