While Kali drove off with Nicco, in another part of Aarush, Dahlia walked alone through one of the quieter streets downtown. The meeting place had been set by text: a small café with yellow lanterns, aged wood, and the scent of roasted coffee. When she arrived, he was already there.

  Jasper.

  Her former best friend. From Alone. From before.

  He sat by the window, sleeves of his sweater pushed up to the elbows, wearing an expression that blended curiosity and unease. When he saw her enter, he stood immediately.

  "Dahlia..." he said, almost like a sigh.

  "Hi, Jasper."

  They sat across from each other. The space between them felt larger than it was. Both stared into their cups before speaking. He broke the silence.

  "You're different. Sharper, maybe?"

  "You're the same," she replied—without harshness, but without sweetness either.

  Silence.

  "I heard about your mom... and that you moved away without a word. It was strange, not knowing anything. Suddenly... you were just silence."

  "I had to leave. I didn't know how to stay without becoming trapped," she said, eyes fixed on the foam in her coffee. "And you... you disappeared too. When I needed you most."

  Jasper looked down.

  "I thought you wanted space. You said you didn't trust anyone. That everything you touched broke..."

  "And you believed it. You accepted it without a fight. That's what hurt the most."

  A pause. Tense. Sad.

  "I'm not here to justify myself, Dahl. I just... needed to see you. To know you're okay."

  She looked at him. Long and hard. There was no anger—just scars.

  "I'm surviving. But not alone anymore."

  Jasper gave a small, sad smile. He stood slowly.

  "I wish you the best, Dahlia. Truly."

  She nodded. No more words were needed. He walked out, and the soft chime of the door was the only goodbye.

  If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  Dahlia stayed seated a moment longer. Breathed deeply. Then pulled out her phone.

  Tobias.

  Are you free? I need air. And someone who doesn't remind me so much of who I used to be.

  Not even two minutes passed.

  At the bookstore. Picking you up in 10. Open road, bad music, and worse coffee. You in?

  I'm in. But you pick the music this time. And no pink crowns.

  None. Just hugs, if you ask for them.

  She smiled. And for the first time that day, she felt something like relief.

  The sun had fully set by the time Tobias parked his car near a quiet open lot, tucked between old factories and streets lined with half-finished graffiti. There, behind a rusted container and some battered fences covered in torn posters, sat the relic: a mustard-yellow Volkswagen Combi van, faded with age, its windows dusty, its paint chipped.

  "What... is this?" Dahlia asked, raising an eyebrow.

  "My personal sanctuary," Tobias replied, as he shoved open the side door with a metallic creak that sounded more nostalgic than creepy.

  "Sanctuary or crime scene hideout?"

  "Depends on the day."

  Inside, the back was set up with mismatched cushions, a patchwork blanket, and a flashlight taped to the ceiling. There was a box of vinyls, an old portable radio, and the soft scent of dried incense and old books.

  Tobias dropped onto the fabric-covered floor like someone who had done it a thousand times. Dahlia followed, curious, slightly skeptical.

  "Do you bring people here often?"

  "Only when I'm sure they won't steal my shoes."

  "Honored, then."

  He smiled. From his backpack, he pulled a small metal tin and began rolling something with slow, ritual-like movements. Dahlia watched from her corner, legs crossed, pulling out her own small pouch and a purple grinder with stars on it.

  "You too...?" Tobias asked, gesturing to her setup with a mix of surprise and respect.

  "Of course. You think this level of sarcasm is natural?"

  "I suspected. But now I feel less alone."

  They both laughed, the sound vanishing into the silent walls of the lot. They lit the first joint. Tobias offered Dahlia the first hit, and she accepted without a word.

  "It has lavender, dried ginger, and a touch of hash," she said after exhaling. "Feels like a hug from a hippie aunt."

  "Mine's simpler: weed and rosemary. Doesn't heal the soul, but it makes it laugh."

  They passed the smoke back and forth, like it was something sacred. Music played softly from a beat-up speaker connected to Tobias's phone: Fleetwood Mac, of course.

  "You know what I sometimes think?" Dahlia said, resting her head against the back window of the van. "That if everyone smoked this with someone they actually liked, there'd be fewer wars."

  "And more sad piano ballads," he added.

  "I love those."

  "I know. It shows in your under-eye circles."

  Dahlia let out a real laugh. Nearly choked on the smoke. Tobias watched her—not intrusively, just calmly.

  "And you?" she asked softly. "Why do you do it?"

  "Because sometimes I'm scared of feeling too much," he answered. "And when I'm like this... everything feels lighter. Like my thoughts weigh less."

  "I do it to stop the world," she murmured. "Not to escape. Just to tell it 'wait'—for a while."

  The smoke danced between them like some kind of pact. Tobias reached into the glove compartment and pulled out an old cassette.

  "What's that?"

  "A forgotten treasure. 'Soft rock for burned hearts.' That's the actual label."

  "Play it," Dahlia said, lying back on the cushions.

  And there they stayed. Side by side. Sometimes talking. Sometimes just listening to the worn music through the old speakers. They smoked in silence. Laughed for no reason.

  And in the midst of the smoke, the laughter, and that scent of memories and weed, they discovered each other.

  Not with promises.

  Not with kisses.

  Just with the quiet certainty that something had just been lit between them.

  And this time... it didn't need a name.