The rain thickened outside, tapping the windows like a steady drumbeat, soft and persistent. The coffee shop was half-full, warm with conversation and the clink of spoons on ceramic. But around their table, the world seemed quieter. Calmer.
Raka let her last words linger in the space between them.
"Then I guess I like who you are, too."
She didn't look like she realized what she'd done, how much that simple sentence disarmed him. And maybe she didn't. Maybe with Nayla, everything meaningful came camouflaged, hidden in statements and half glances.
"You guess?" he teased, finally breaking the silence.
She glanced up over the rim of her cup, her lips twitching. "It's called not giving you a big head."
He leaned back in his chair, grinning. "Too late."
"Tragic."
"But," he said, tilting his head slightly, "I'll accept that as a compliment. And don't worry, your approval will only inflate my ego for the next week or two."
She rolled her eyes but didn't look away this time.
That, for Raka, was everything.
"You always read too much into things," she said, almost fondly.
"Can you blame me? You hand out crumbs like a mysterious forest witch testing if I'm worthy of the treasure."
Nayla laughed. Laughed.
Not loud. Not dramatic. But soft and real. Her hand even covered her mouth slightly, like the sound had surprised her too.
"Forest witch?" she asked, amused.
"Absolutely. Wise, beautiful, lives in a cabin built from sarcasm and perfectly measured detachment."
She shook her head, smiling down into her drink. "You're ridiculous."
"And you keep showing up to see me be ridiculous."
She didn't deny it.
Instead, she reached for her cup, held it with both hands, and looked out the window like she was carefully choosing her next thought.
"Do you ever worry I'll disappoint you?" she asked, voice barely above a whisper.
He blinked, startled. "Where's that coming from?"
"I'm not… easy," she said. "To read. To be with. I don't give much."
He leaned forward then, arms on the table, his voice low and steady. "You give more than you think. Just not in the usual ways."
She met his gaze. And for once, she didn't look away.
"I like how you see me," she said.
"I like seeing you," he replied. "Even the parts you think you're hiding."
They sat with that for a moment.
Then Nayla reached into her tote bag and slid something across the table. A small notebook, black cover, worn edges. Her sketchbook.
Raka blinked. "Wait. You're letting me see this?"
"Pages 12 through 19," she said softly. "The rest is still mine."
He opened it slowly, reverently, as though he'd been handed a secret.
And what he saw there wasn't just drawings. It was him.
His profile. His laugh. The slope of his neck as he tilted his head, listening. Small moments she'd captured without him noticing.
"You draw me when we're together?"
"Sometimes after," she admitted. "When I miss the way I felt around you."
His heart thudded.
And this time, he was the one left speechless.