The smell of burnt toast woke me up.
I opened my eyes slowly, staring at the unfamiliar ceiling above me before remembering where I was.
Tessa’s apartment.
Right.
A loud curse echoed from the kitchenette.
“Oh no.”
I pushed myself upright just as smoke drifted dramatically through the apartment.
“Tessa,” I called hoarsely, “why does it smell like the kitchen declared war?”
“It’s under control!”
“It never is when people say that!”
I stumbled out from beneath the blanket and walked into the kitchenette, only to find Tessa aggressively waving a towel at a frying pan while coughing violently.
I stared at her.
She stared at me.
Then the smoke alarm started screaming.
“Oh my God,” I muttered.
“Open the window!”
“You open the window!”
“You’re closer!”
“You’re the criminal here!”
That finally broke us both into exhausted laughter.
Five minutes later, we sat on the sofa eating slightly-burnt toast while the windows remained wide open behind us.
“I just think,” Tessa said seriously, “that breakfast should challenge people emotionally.”
“You almost killed us before eight in the morning.”
“And yet,” she said, raising her toast proudly, “growth occurred.”
I laughed quietly into my coffee.
The warmth felt nice after yesterday.
Normal.
Safe.
Tessa glanced toward me suddenly.
“You look tired.”
“I am tired.”
“No, like… existentially tired.”
“That’s because university is a scam created to humble poor people.”
“Careful.
St.
Aureline might hear you.”
“Good.
Maybe they’ll lower my tuition out of guilt.”
Tessa snorted into her coffee.
A smile tugged briefly at my mouth before my thoughts drifted elsewhere.
To the café.
To the man outside the glass.
Something about him still unsettled me.
The way he’d watched me so calmly…
Like he already knew me somehow.
I opened my mouth slightly.
“Tess…”
She looked up.
I hesitated.
What exactly was I supposed to say?
Hey, I think a strangely attractive older man in a luxury car stared at me for ten straight minutes yesterday.
That sounded ridiculous even inside my own head.
Probably some rich customer waiting for someone.
Probably nothing.
“Hmm?” she pressed.
I shook my head lightly.
“Nothing.”
She narrowed her eyes suspiciously.
“You were about to say something.”
“I was about to ask if there’s more coffee.”
“Coward.”
“Correct.”
****
St.
Aureline University looked painfully expensive in the morning sunlight.
Tall ivory buildings stretched across the campus while fountains shimmered beside carefully trimmed gardens that probably cost more than my yearly tuition.
Students moved through the pathways carrying designer bags and iced coffees like life had never inconvenienced them once.
Meanwhile, my bank account cried every time I breathed too hard.
Tessa walked beside me, wearing sunglasses dramatically despite the lack of dramatic sunlight.
“You know,” she said thoughtfully, “if we married rich men, all our problems would disappear.”
“Mine would multiply.”
“You lack vision.”
“I lack financial stability.”
“Same thing.”
I laughed softly as we climbed the wide staircase leading toward the business faculty building.
Around us, conversations blended into white noise until one voice cut sharply through it.
“Loan applications opened again this semester, didn’t they?”
I kept walking.
Another laugh followed.
“I heard they practically let anyone in now.”
Tessa’s expression immediately darkened.
I already knew the voices behind us.
Soraya Klein and her orbiting collection of designer perfumes and superiority complexes.
“You know,” Soraya continued loudly, “I almost respect it.
Imagine surviving on financial aid in this economy.”
Tessa stopped walking so suddenly that I nearly walked into her.
“Oh no,” I muttered quietly.
“Oh yes.”
“Tessa.”
“No, because now I’m irritated.”
I grabbed her sleeve before she could turn around fully.
“Leave it.”
“They’re talking about you.”
“They’re always talking about someone.”
Soraya finally walked past us with two girls beside her, all polished smiles and expensive jewellery.
Her gaze slid briefly over my clothes before amusement flickered across her face.
“Some people confuse scholarships with social equality,” she said sweetly.
I smiled back politely.
“Some people confuse money with personality.
We all struggle.”
One of the girls choked on her laughter.
Soraya’s expression tightened instantly.
Tessa looked dangerously proud beside me.
We continued walking before things escalated further.
“You handled that too calmly,” Tessa whispered.
“That’s because I’m poor, not stupid.”
“You’re terrifying sometimes.”
“I survive through sarcasm.”
As we entered the building, movement near the entrance caught my attention briefly.
A tall figure stood across the street near a sleek black car.
My stomach tightened immediately.
Him.
Dark coat.
Hands in his pockets.
Watching.
Again.
The morning sunlight sharpened the clean lines of his face, catching faint silver near his temples.
He looked composed in a way that didn’t feel natural, like the chaos of ordinary life simply moved around him instead of touching him directly.
Even from this distance, his gaze felt heavy.
Intentional.
I slowed slightly.
Tessa noticed.
“What?”
I looked away quickly.
“Nothing.”
But when I glanced back toward the street again…
The black car was already pulling away.
And somehow that unsettled me more than the staring itself.
By evening, rain had begun falling over Windhoek in soft silver sheets.
The café glowed warmly against the wet streets outside while soft music drifted through the speakers overhead.
I was wiping down the counter when Amira appeared beside me suddenly.
“So,” she whispered dramatically, “mysterious man came back.”
I froze.
“What?”
“The hot one.”
I blinked slowly.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Amira looked offended.
“Yes, you do.
Tall.
Looks expensive.
Could probably ruin lives emotionally.”
My heartbeat stumbled once.
“You noticed him?”
“Everyone noticed him.”
That somehow made me feel worse.
I glanced toward the windows instinctively.
Empty.
Rain streaked softly against the glass.
Gone.
“You look nervous,” Amira observed.
“I’m not.”
“You are literally gripping the cloth like it insulted your family.”
I loosened my fingers immediately.
Before I could answer, the bell above the café door chimed softly.
The room shifted.
Not loudly.
Just enough.
Conversations quieted slightly.
Several people looked up.
And then he walked in.
The dark coat was gone tonight, replaced by a charcoal suit beneath the rain-darkened evening light.
Water glimmered briefly along his sleeves before disappearing as he removed his gloves carefully.
Controlled movements.
Precise.
Everything about him felt deliberate.
His gaze found me immediately.
Not searching.
Finding.
My pulse quickened despite myself.
Amira leaned closer.
“Oh, he definitely came for you.”
“Stop talking.”
“I’m serious.”
He approached slowly through the café.
Late thirties perhaps, though something about him carried the exhausting composure of someone much older.
His face was sharply cut beneath the warm lighting, handsome without softness, the kind of attractiveness built from restraint rather than charm.
Dark eyes.
Unreadable expression.
Calm enough to be dangerous.
When he finally stopped in front of the counter, silence stretched strangely between us.
Then he spoke.
“Liora Bennett.”
Not a question.
My stomach dropped.
“You know my name.”
“I know many things about you.”
Every instinct in my body sharpened immediately.
Behind me, Amira wisely vanished.
I swallowed carefully.
“Have we met before?”
“No.”
The answer came smoothly.
Certain.
“Then why have you been watching me?”
For the first time, something faintly resembling amusement touched his face.
Small.
Brief.
Gone almost instantly.
“Yes,” he said calmly.
“I certainly have.”