🌙 Chapter 3 – The Rules of Starlight
The café felt different that night.
Quieter. Dimmer.
Like the glow that used to hum in the air had grown wary.
Aurora stood near the counter, clutching her damp sketchbook. Every instinct told her to leave—but her heart wouldn't move. Elias's calm gaze held her there, soft and unshakable, like gravity in human form.
"What do you mean by choose?" she asked.
Elias didn't answer right away. He set down the cup he was polishing and turned to the tall window beside the espresso machine. The glass shimmered faintly, showing not the city streets outside, but a night sky scattered with moving constellations.
"This café," he began, "isn't always here. It drifts between what people dream and what they forget. When someone loses hope, or lets go of something they once wished for, the café opens its door to them."
Aurora's brows knitted. "So… it's magic?"
He smiled faintly. "You could call it that. But magic always asks for balance."
He turned back toward her. "Every wish paid in starlight must be replaced by something real. A memory. A moment. A heartbeat."
She stared. "You mean people trade their memories here?"
Elias hesitated. "They trade what they can't bear to remember… or what they can't bear to lose."
Something in his voice cracked—a whisper of sorrow beneath the calm. Aurora felt her chest tighten. "And you? What did you trade?"
He looked up at her then, and for a moment, his eyes glowed faintly gold. "My time," he said softly. "I gave up time itself."
Her breath caught. "You're trapped here?"
Elias gave a small, rueful smile. "Bound. By choice, once. By consequence, now."
Aurora's pulse raced. "Then why am I here? I didn't wish for anything."
He stepped closer, the air between them humming faintly like static. "Didn't you?"
Images flooded her mind—nights spent sketching alone, dreams of light and laughter fading as reality pressed in. She'd wished, quietly, desperately, to feel alive again. To find something real.
Her voice trembled. "That's not the same."
"It's enough," he said.
---
The door's bell jingled softly.
Aurora turned.
A woman had entered—tall, elegant, wearing a coat that shimmered like silver rain. Her eyes glowed faintly, and as she moved, the air bent around her like ripples in water.
Elias straightened instantly, his tone formal. "You shouldn't be here."
The woman smiled coldly. "You forget, Elias. I'm always here. You just don't look long enough."
Aurora felt the hairs on her neck rise. "Who—?"
The woman's gaze flicked to her. "Ah. The dreamer."
She took a step forward, her heels silent on the floor. "You've let her see too much, Guardian."
Aurora frowned. "Guardian?"
Elias moved between them, eyes sharp now. "Leave her out of this, Astra."
Astra. The name shimmered in the air, familiar and foreign all at once.
Astra tilted her head, her smile like moonlight—beautiful and dangerous. "You're breaking the rules again. You always do when you care too much."
Her gaze shifted to Aurora. "And you, dear girl, don't belong here. Not yet."
Aurora's pulse hammered. "Then why can I see this place?"
"Because," Astra said softly, "you dreamed of it first."
The lights flickered. The jazz warped. The golden steam from the coffee cups turned silver.
Elias moved fast—too fast. He grabbed Aurora's wrist and pulled her behind him. "Go," he said. "Out the back door."
"What's happening?" she gasped.
He turned, and for the first time, fear flashed in his eyes. "She's trying to unmake the café. If you stay, you'll forget everything—including me."
Aurora froze. "Forget—?"
The walls around them began to ripple like reflections on water. Books slid off shelves. The smell of coffee turned to smoke.
Astra's voice echoed softly, almost regretful. "You can't save her from her own dream, Elias."
Elias gritted his teeth, light flaring around him—starlight spilling from his palms. "Watch me."
He pushed open a back door that hadn't been there before, light pouring through it like dawn. Aurora stumbled through, feeling the world stretch, twist, and shatter—
—then silence.
---
When she opened her eyes, she was in her bedroom.
Her sketchbook lay open beside her.
The café was gone.
Her phone buzzed again.
A new message.
> Unknown: "He broke the rules for you. The café will vanish at dawn."
Aurora's hand trembled as she typed back, but the message deleted itself before she could hit send.
She stared out the window. The stars above Lumina City were dimming—one by one.
And deep down, she knew she wasn't supposed to wake up this time.