Lyra didn't tell anyone about the man in the dark suit. About the stormy walk home. About the way his voice still clung to her bones like ivy. But silence didn't mean forgetting.
She searched.
Not obviously. Not foolishly. But carefully, deliberately. A glance around every street corner. Lingering longer near the park bench under the old elm tree. Taking the longer route back from the café each shift, looping through unfamiliar paths and alleys, hoping—though she'd never admit it—for a flash of silver eyes in the crowd.
The heat of July turned the sidewalks to steam. Every day she wiped sweat from her forehead and looked again.
But he wasn't there.
Not in the bookstore with the crooked window. Not at the music shop where bells ring and soft lullabies. Not even once in the café, although she kept the corner table by the window polished to a shine, just in case.
The city shimmered with heat. And still—well Damon.
No one had seen him.
But they knew him.
She hadn't dreamed of him since mid-July. And that was worse somehow. Because silence was final. Silence meant maybe he had never existed at all.
But she remembered.
The dreams. The suite. The scent of cedar smoke and something darker.
She remembered.
The calendar pages turned. Time forgot her. But she couldn't forget him.
August faded into late summer. Nights grew shorter. The sound of cicadas filled the humid air. And suddenly it was only one week before school would start again.
She stood at the edge of her bedroom, arms crossed tightly over her chest, staring at the uniform she had to wear again. She hadn't missed the classrooms, the whispers. The stars.
But she missed one pair of eyes that never judged her.
And just before she turned to face her day, she whispered, barely audible:
"Come back."
---
The rumors started exactly seven days before the first bell.
She heard them in fragments.
At the grocery store, in the cereal aisle:
"There's a new guy joining us this year. Not just a transfer. Older. I heard he's nineteen."
In the café, behind the clatter of dishes:
"My cousin said he came from a private boarding school. Somewhere in Europe, I think. Doesn't talk much."
And outside the school, where heat curled off the asphalt and girls practiced their smiles like armor:
"He's hot, like model-level. Sharp jaw. Long fingers. Weird eyes, though. Kind of pale. But, like, sexy-pale. You know what I mean?"
Lyra froze the moment she heard it. All of it.
Could it be him?
It fit. The age. The mystery. The presence.
Could it really be Damon?
The idea grew in her like a storm gathering speed.
She didn't ask. Of course not. That would mean saying his name out loud. Giving him away.
But she listened.
Every whispered word in the café.
Every flirty giggle in the hallway.
Every sigh.
Three days before school started, she overheard three girls—Talia, Amanda, and Cassie—gossiping loudly on the café patio.
They leaned into each other like wolves over a fresh secret.
"I heard he doesn't even have social media," said Talia. "Like, who isn't on Insta these days?"
"Because he's hot and mysterious," Amanda replied, eyes gleaming. "You know the type. Silent, broody. Totally untouchable."
"I'd let him touch me," Cassie said, laughing.
They all laughed.
Lyra, in her apron and tray in hand, walked past them without a word.
But something in her chest cracked open.
She didn't want to hope.
But she did.
Two days before school started, she woke up early and sat in front of her tiny mirror, brushing her hair longer than usual. Her hair grew a lot. Before it was broken and short. Only to nershoulders but since Elis's sisters shared their hair care tips and helped her maintain it it grew past her bra.
Itt was heaty and dark brown with some natural highlights light brown color. The ends were allways curling so it looked like she styled it eaven if she didnt.
She didn't say his name.
She didn't need it.
Her heart had already whispered it into the space between seconds:
Please let it be him.
Even if she was wrong.
Even if it wasn't.
Even if Damon never existed.
Because if it was him—
Then maybe her summer hadn't been wasted after all.