12 months later
The road gleamed under a wash of lingering rain.
Dark clouds rolled across the morning sky, turning everything beneath them a muted gray — cars, trees, rooftops, the blurred silhouettes of people hurrying with umbrellas.
The world looked soaked in melancholy.
It was the rainy season again.
Maya always felt a strange heaviness when the rains returned. Something about them — or perhaps the entire rhythm of autumn — pressed on her spirit in ways she could never quite explain.
It wasn't sadness, exactly. More like a quiet ache.
No matter how she tried to shake it off, her mind always drifted somewhere dimmer during this time of year. Even winter, with its cold and loneliness, was easier to bear than this season of endings — where leaves turned brittle, flowers bowed their heads, and everything seemed to surrender to change.
Change.
The word itself felt like a sigh.
Perhaps that was why the rain unnerved her — because it reminded her that nothing stayed untouched. Not love. Not peace. Not even pain.
Her life had been nothing but proof of that.
And yet, though she still feared change, she no longer ran from it. Because the very act of changing — of breaking away, of rebuilding — had brought her here.
Whether this new life was good or bad, she didn't yet know. But it was hers.
A soft sound stirred beside her.
"Ma-ma."
Maya blinked out of her thoughts and turned.
In the child seat, her daughter stretched her tiny arms, her little fingers opening and closing in the air. In one fist, she clutched a pink rubber ball slick with drool. Her cheeks were round, her dark curls sticking adorably to her forehead.
"Yes, my love?" Maya smiled, taking the tiny hand offered to her.
"Ma-ma!" Aria gurgled again, waving her ball.
"You've been such a good girl," Maya said, voice tender. "Just wait a little longer, okay? We'll be there soon."
Aria beamed, showing off her miniature teeth, her laughter bubbling.
Maya's heart softened. She reached out and smoothed her daughter's hair, though the ponytails she'd tied that morning were already unraveling.
Aria was impossible to keep tidy these days. But that was part of her charm — messy, radiant, alive.
Watching her grow was still a marvel Maya couldn't quite put into words.
Motherhood, she thought, wasn't what she had expected. It was an endless tide — equal parts terror, joy, exhaustion, and wonder. Sometimes she woke up in the middle of the night overwhelmed by love so fierce it frightened her. Sometimes she broke down quietly in the shower from the weight of it all.
But she wouldn't trade a second of it.
Aria had become her compass — the one thing anchoring her in a world that had once seemed too cruel to stay in.
There were nights when Maya thought of the past — the betrayal, the shouting, the shattered glass — and felt a bitter sting of shame for what she had endured. But when Aria's tiny fingers wrapped around hers, all that pain dimmed. The girl was proof that something good had survived.
Her daughter was her change.
"Ball!" Aria squealed suddenly, tossing the pink ball toward the car floor. It bounced once, then disappeared under the front seat.
"Oh, Aria." Maya sighed with a soft laugh. "Not again."
She unbuckled her seat belt, leaned forward, and retrieved the slippery toy. "You can't put this one back in your mouth anymore," she murmured, wiping it with a napkin. "Let's put it right here beside Moo, hmm?"
She tucked the ball beside the soft cow plushie in the carrier. Aria immediately reached for Moo, hugging it against her face with a squeal of contentment.
Maya smiled and sat back. The car's gentle hum lulled her, rain streaking the window beside her into glistening rivers.
"Mama ti?" Aria pointed outside, her toddler babble earnest.
Maya followed her gaze. "Hmm? Yes, I see it. It's beautiful."
Outside, they were in the commercial district — a part of the city Maya had rarely visited before.
Tall, glass-paneled buildings rose like monuments to ambition, their reflections rippling in puddles below.
The sidewalks were clean, the trees carefully pruned.
People in sleek suits and smart coats moved with purpose, holding umbrellas like extensions of themselves.
She leaned closer to the window,
It felt a universe away from the chaos she had known.
Her gaze snagged on a particular building as they passed.
It was a single storey, wrapped in matte black panels and accented by wooden beams that softened its severity.
At first glance, it looked like an upscale corporate office. The kind of place where people spoke in hushed tones and carried leather briefcases.
But then she noticed the sign above the entrance, understated yet elegant:
Noir & Oak.
"What–"
Maya blinked. "Wait, that's… the café?"
The driver chuckled. "Indeed, ma'am. One of the most popular in the district. You won't find another like it."
Maya's eyebrows lifted. "Noir and Oak," she repeated, tasting the name. "It doesn't even look like a café."
"It's famous for that. Some folks say it feels more like stepping into a private club than a coffee shop."
Maya tilted her head, still watching the building shrink in the distance. Its design lingered in her mind — bold but calm, elegant without trying.
She smiled faintly. "Well, what a kick starter."
The driver grinned at her amusement. "Quite so."
Aria made a soft whining sound, breaking Maya's reverie.
She turned immediately. "Hey, hey. What's wrong, my love?"
The baby squirmed in her seat, her lower lip trembling in protest. Maya reached out, brushing her cheek. "We're almost there, okay? Just a little more."
"Moo," she added, lifting the cow plush. "You want Moo?"
Aria's mood brightened for a heartbeat, then she frowned again, kicking her little feet.
Maya laughed quietly. "I know. Sitting this long isn't fun."