No matter how hard she tried, Elara couldn't focus.
The numbers on the screen blurred. The timelines tangled in her head. Every time she tried to type, Jonas's face appeared in her mind—those calm, detached eyes, that cool Miss May.
She pushed back from her desk and stood up.
I need air.
She grabbed her tablet, slipped her phone into her pocket, and walked out of the office. The elevator took her down to the lobby. She nodded at the receptionist and stepped outside.
Across the street, a small café beckoned—warm lighting, the smell of fresh coffee, soft music drifting through the open door.
She crossed the road and went inside.
---
The café was cozy. Wooden tables, mismatched chairs, a long counter lined with pastries. In the corner, a baby grand piano sat, and a young man with nimble fingers was playing something soft and melodic.
Elara found a small table by the window, sat down, and ordered an iced coffee and a sandwich.
Her tablet glowed to life. She pulled up the project files—Blizzard, Shaw, a few smaller clients—and tried to review them.
But the music kept pulling her attention.
She looked up at the pianist. He was good. Really good. The kind of playing that made you forget, even for a moment, whatever was weighing on you.
At least someone here is doing a good job, she thought, managing a small smile.
She turned back to her tablet and forced herself to read the same paragraph for the third time.
Phase One: Site assessment...
Phase One...
Jonas...
She groaned softly and rubbed her temples , "I'm a mess"
---
Knock. Knock.
Two soft taps on her table.
Elara looked up.
And then she shot to her feet so fast her chair nearly tipped over.
Standing in front of her was Mr. Shaw.
But not the Mr. Shaw she had met in the conference room. This version of him was completely different.
No suit. No tie. No polished shoes.
He wore a simple grey henley, dark jeans, and clean white sneakers. His dark hair was slightly tousled, falling softly across his forehead. No glasses. No briefcase. Just him, holding a cup of coffee and looking nothing like a businessman.
He looked... human. Approachable. Almost soft.
"Miss May," he said, a small smile playing on his lips. "Fancy meeting you here."
Elara blinked, her surprise evident. "Mr. Shaw. I—I didn't recognize you at first."
He chuckled, gesturing at his clothes. "Off the clock. Please, just... call me Caleb."
Caleb Shaw. She hadn't even known his first name until now.
She realized she was still standing. "Please, sit," she said, recovering her composure. "I was just taking a break."
He nodded and settled into the chair across from her, setting his coffee down.
The pianist played on.
Caleb ordered coffee and a slice of cake.
As he drank, his eyes kept drifting toward Elara. She felt his gaze on her—steady, curious, a little too intense. It made her uncomfortable.
She shifted in her seat, pulling her cardigan tighter around herself.
"You seem... troubled," he said finally. "What's wrong?"
Elara glanced up. "I don't know. I just feel like—" She stopped.
"Something is off," he finished for her. "Would you like to share? Two heads are better than one."
He said it with a warm smile, and despite herself, Elara laughed softly.
Then she tilted her head, studying him.
"You know," she said, "I could say the same thing about you. When we met in the office, you were all business. Now..." She gestured at his casual clothes. "Would you like to share?"
---
Caleb laughed—a warm, easy sound that seemed to relax his entire frame.
"Fair enough," he said, leaning back in his chair. "You caught me."
He stirred his coffee slowly, his eyes dropping to the cup for a moment before lifting back to hers.
"The truth is," he said, "I wasn't always like this. The suits. The meetings. The business talk." He gestured vaguely at himself. "This—" he looked down at his grey henley and jeans, "—this is closer to who I really am."
Elara raised an eyebrow. "Then who were you at the office?"
"Someone trying very hard to be professional." He smiled. "And maybe a little nervous."
"You? Nervous?"
"Caleb nodded. "Believe it or not, yes. Especially around you."
Elara blinked. "Me?"
He set his coffee down and leaned forward, resting his arms on the table.
"We've met before, Elara. A long time ago."
She frowned, searching his face. "I don't—"
"University," he said quietly. "Fordland University. You were in your third year. I was in my second. Same faculty, different departments. You probably don't remember me."
Elara stared at him, her mind racing back more than a decade.
"You used to sit in the back of the library," he continued. "The corner table by the window. You always had a stack of architecture books and a cup of tea that went cold before you finished it."
Her eyes widened.
"There was this one time," he said, "your laptop crashed right before a deadline. You panicked. And this scrawny, nervous kid with thick glasses came over and helped you recover the file."
Elara's mouth fell open.
"That was you?"
Caleb nodded, his smile a little shy now. "Caleb Shaw. Back then, I was just the quiet computer science major who could barely look anyone in the eye. Glasses so thick they called me 'four-eyes.' Sweaters with holes in the sleeves. Definitely not the man sitting across from you now."
Elara sat back in her chair, stunned.
"Caleb," she breathed. "Oh my God. I remember you."
"You do?"
"You used to wear those terrible brown sandals. Even in winter."
He winced, laughing. "Please don't remind me."
"And your hair was always in your face because you were too shy to get a haircut."
"Okay, okay." He raised his hands in surrender. "I get it. I was a mess."
Elara shook her head, a genuine smile breaking across her face. "No, you weren't a mess. You were... sweet. Kind. You saved my entire project. I never forgot that."
"You never said thank you," he pointed out gently.
"Didn't I?" She frowned, trying to remember. "I was so stressed about the deadline... I think I just grabbed my laptop and ran."
"You did." He chuckled. "You said 'thanks' over your shoulder, and then you were gone. I sat there for ten minutes just... staring at the door."
Elara felt a warmth creep up her neck. "I'm so sorry. That was terrible of me."
"It was years ago." He shrugged. "I didn't track you down to collect a thank-you. I just... when I saw your name on the proposal from Phoenix Architects, I remembered. And I wanted to see if you were still the same person."
"And am I?"
He studied her for a long moment. "You're more tired. More guarded. But underneath..." He smiled softly. "You're still her. The girl who loved architecture so much she forgot to drink her tea."
Elara looked down at her hands, suddenly emotional.
"I can't believe you remember all that," she murmured.
"I remember everything about that day," he said quietly. "It was the first time I ever helped someone and felt like I mattered."
The pianist played on. The café hummed around them.
Elara looked up at Caleb—really looked at him. The shy, nerdy boy from university was gone. In his place sat a confident, handsome man. But his eyes... his eyes were still kind.
"Thank you," she said softly. "For helping me then. And for telling me now."
He tilted his head. "You're welcome."
A comfortable silence settled between them.
Then Elara grinned. "So... brown sandals, huh?"
Caleb groaned and buried his face in his hands. "I walked right into that."
She laughed—a real, full laugh, the kind she hadn't let out in a long time.
And for a moment, the weight of Jonas and the meeting and everything else lifted off her shoulders.