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Seraphina hadn't expected her to come.
She said she'd bring coffee again, maybe a croissant. She didn't say see you tonight, because she didn't want to trap Raine in a yes she wasn't ready to give.
So when Seraphina stood beneath the rows of paper lanterns strung like stars between old trees and market stalls, she was alone. A gentle breeze tugged her scarf, and the scent of roasted chestnuts drifted through the night air. Music played somewhere—soft jazz, mismatched to the setting but somehow perfect.
She wasn't looking for Raine. Not really.
But when she turned, she saw her.
Raine stood near the edge of the market, hands tucked in the pockets of her dark coat. She looked out of place, like someone who had stepped into the wrong story—but didn't walk away. Her hair caught the lantern light, and her eyes scanned the crowd slowly, like she hadn't decided if she regretted being here.
Seraphina's heart stuttered. She didn't move right away. Just watched her, as if any sudden gesture might startle her into disappearing.
Then Raine noticed her. Their eyes met across the crowd.
Seraphina offered a small, unsure smile. Nothing wide. Nothing loud. Just a quiet acknowledgment—I see you. You came.
Raine walked toward her.
"Didn't expect this many people," Raine said when she reached her.
"I didn't expect you," Seraphina replied.
Raine didn't look at her. Her gaze drifted to the stalls—crystal trinkets, secondhand records, hand-painted bookmarks. Everything whimsical. Everything loud with life.
"I almost didn't," she murmured.
Seraphina didn't press. She only said, "I'm glad you did."
They walked side by side through the market. Not touching. Not speaking much. Just moving through the colors and noise like two shadows learning how to share the light.
At one booth, Seraphina paused and pointed at a set of handmade pins shaped like books and stars. "That one reminds me of your store," she said.
Raine's lips twitched at the corners. "You say that like you've seen enough of it to make comparisons."
"I've seen enough to know it has soul," Seraphina said. "Like you."
Raine turned to her, surprised.
Seraphina didn't back away from the look. "You hide it well. But it's there."
Raine didn't answer. But she didn't walk away either.
At the far end of the market, a musician played on a small wooden stage. A cello this time—mournful, rich, trembling with emotion. Raine froze, breath caught.
"Do you want to leave?" Seraphina asked, noticing.
"No," Raine said after a pause. "It's... beautiful."
She closed her eyes, letting the music thread through her. It didn't feel like Celeste. And maybe that was the strangest part. It wasn't her voice, her melody, her sorrow.
It was something else.
New.
When she opened her eyes again, Seraphina was watching her—but not the way people watched someone they were trying to fix. She was just there—quiet, present, holding space.
And Raine, for the first time in a very long time, didn't feel crowded by someone else's nearness.
Maybe grief didn't vanish.
Maybe it just learned how to breathe beside something softer.
Something like hope.
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