Chapter Five: Sundays at Clover Café
(Lyra's POV)
Clover's Café smelled like cinnamon and rain.
The place sat at the corner of Saint Valley Square, the kind of café you'd walk past if not for the fairy lights tangled in the vines outside. The windows were fogged from the afternoon drizzle, and inside, the air buzzed with quiet laughter and espresso steam.
"This place is magic," I whispered as we walked in.
"It's basically our second home," Soraya said, pushing the door open wider. "We've been coming here since, like, sixth grade. The owner, Miss June, used to give us free cookies if we promised not to knock over the flower vases."
Saphira laughed. "We still knocked over the vases."
"Multiple times," Cassian added.
The café was warm — little wooden tables, a book shelf by the counter, art pinned up along the walls. I noticed a charcoal sketch of the café's exterior near the window. The signature read: A.V.
Aveline followed my gaze. "That's mine," she said, quietly proud. "June kept it up."
"Of course she did," Soraya said, plopping down at our usual table. "It's gorgeous. Like me."
Cassian rolled his eyes. "You're impossible."
"Admit I'm right."
"Never."
I smiled, watching them bicker. For a moment, I didn't feel like the new girl. I felt… part of something.
Cassian spread out his notes across our table. "Okay, Lyra. Let's see where you're at."
"Somewhere between confused and completely doomed," I said, flipping through my math notebook.
He laughed softly — the kind of laugh that didn't mock, just understood. "We'll fix that."
While he went over equations, the others ordered drinks. Soraya and Saphira returned with steaming mugs and a basket of cookies.
"What's the emergency?" Soraya asked, sitting across from me. "You look like you've been fighting for your life."
"Math," Cassian said simply.
"Ah," Saphira said. "A deadly opponent."
Aveline reached for a cookie. "You'll get the hang of it, Lyra. Cassian's the only reason half the football team passed algebra last term."
Cassian shrugged modestly. "I'm decent with numbers."
"Decent?" Soraya scoffed. "You're a walking calculator."
"Don't let the teachers hear that," he said, smirking. "They'll assign me double homework."
We worked for a while, my brain slowly untying its knots. I glanced up occasionally — at the soft lights, the warm colors, the way everyone seemed to belong.
Then the bell above the door chimed.
And in walked him.
Evander Vale — rain-speckled hair, hands shoved into his jacket pockets, eyes that found mine instantly.
"Of course," Soraya muttered. "He shows up after we do all the work."
"Practice ran late," he said, taking the empty seat beside her. "Coach wanted to review plays."
"Sure," Saphira teased. "And you definitely didn't stop to flirt with the barista again."
Evan grinned. "If I did, she gave me free coffee, so technically, I'm doing it for the economy."
Soraya groaned. "You're impossible."
He shrugged — then looked at me. "So, the new girl's surviving?"
"Barely," I said, turning a page in my notebook. "Math is trying to kill me."
"Cassian's got you," he said casually. "Without him, I'd still think 'cosine' was a skincare brand."
That actually made me laugh — which made him smile — which made me look away too quickly.
Conversation flowed easily after that.
They told stories about their favorite teachers — Mrs. Adair, who once wore two different shoes to class; Mr. Lennox, who everyone secretly thought had a crush on the literature teacher; and Ms. Greeley, the terrifying gym instructor who could probably lift a car.
Soraya leaned in suddenly. "Oh! Lyra, are you going to the Autumn Festival?"
"The what?"
"The biggest event of the semester," Saphira said, eyes lighting up. "There's music, food stalls, games, and the dance."
Cassian nodded. "It's tradition. Every grade attends. It's when the pact started, actually."
My eyebrows rose. "The pact?"
Aveline smiled, soft and nostalgic. "Back in middle school, we promised none of us would go to a dance alone. It was silly, but… it kind of stuck. Now we just make sure everyone has someone to go with. Even if it's just as friends."
"That's…" I searched for the right word. "Sweet. And kind of sad, in a poetic way."
Evan smirked. "So, you're into poetry now?"
"I'm into books," I said, meeting his gaze. "There's a difference."
"Oh?"
"Books don't interrupt me mid-sentence."
The group burst out laughing, and Evan leaned back, mock-offended. "You wound me."
"Good," I said, hiding a smile behind my mug.
By the time we left, the sky had darkened into deep violet. The air smelled like wet pavement and coffee beans.
Cassian walked me halfway home, backpack slung over one shoulder.
"You did good today," he said. "You're picking things up fast."
"Thanks. I'm just trying not to embarrass myself."
He smiled faintly. "You won't."
There was something calm about Cassian — steady, like still water. The opposite of Evander's chaos.
When we reached my street, he waved and turned back.
Mom opened the door before I could knock, her eyes bright.
"How was it?"
"Good," I said. "Actually… really good."
Her face lit up. "I'm so glad, anak."
She pulled me into a hug, the scent of jasmine and coffee wrapping around me.
And as I leaned into her, I realized that for the first time since moving here — Saint Valley didn't feel like a stranger anymore.