For a long moment after the man left, neither of them moved.
The café noise returned slowly, coffee machines steaming, quiet chatter from nearby tables, the clink of spoons against ceramic cups but it all felt distant.
Arman stared at the door.
Samantha stared at the space where the man had been standing.
"He saw me," she said quietly.
Arman nodded once.
"Yeah."
Her voice trembled slightly.
"That shouldn't be possible."
"No," he agreed. "It shouldn't."
He took a slow breath, trying to steady his thoughts. The dock worker's warning echoed in his mind again.
The closer she gets to remembering… the closer the killer gets to her.
Samantha looked at him.
"What do we do now?"
Arman turned away from the door and looked back at the counter.
Then something caught his attention.
The barista.
She had been watching the whole interaction.
Not suspiciously.
Just… curious.
Arman walked back to the counter.
"Hey," he said casually.
The barista looked up.
"Yeah?"
"That guy who just left," Arman said, nodding toward the door. "The one in the black jacket."
She frowned slightly.
"Which one?"
"Tall guy. Baseball cap."
"Oh."
Her expression shifted.
"You mean Mr. Quiet."
Arman raised an eyebrow.
"Mr. Quiet?"
"That's what we call him," she said.
"He doesn't talk much."
Samantha leaned closer.
"He comes here often."
Arman felt a small chill crawl up his spine.
"How often?"
The barista shrugged.
"Almost every day."
Both Arman and Samantha froze.
"Every day?" Arman repeated.
"Yeah."
She wiped the counter casually.
"Same order. Same seat."
She pointed toward a small table near the window.
Arman followed her finger.
The chair was empty now.
But it faced directly toward the café entrance.
Toward the street.
Toward the exact place Samantha used to stand when greeting customers.
Samantha's voice dropped to a whisper.
"That's where he used to sit."
Arman glanced at her.
"You remember that?"
"Yes."
Her eyes slowly widened as pieces of memory connected.
"He always sat there."
Arman turned back to the barista.
"How long has he been coming here?"
She thought for a moment.
"Hmm."
"A few months, I think."
Arman felt his stomach tighten.
A few months.
That meant the man had been watching Samantha long before the night she died.
"You know his name?" Arman asked.
The barista shook her head.
"No idea."
"He always pays cash."
That wasn't suspicious by itself.
But now it felt deliberate.
Careful.
Like someone avoiding leaving a trace.
"Did he ever talk to the staff?" Arman asked.
The barista shrugged.
"Not really."
"Except once."
Samantha stepped closer.
"When?"
The barista pointed toward the photo board behind the counter.
"He asked about her."
Arman turned slowly.
The board again.
The picture of Samantha smiling in her barista apron.
The barista continued casually.
"He asked if she worked every day."
Arman felt anger rising slowly in his chest.
"What did you tell him?"
"That she worked mornings most of the time."
Samantha closed her eyes briefly.
"He was watching me."
Arman looked at her.
"For months."
She nodded slowly.
"Yes."
The pieces fit together too well.
The café.
The questions.
The Uber ride.
The docks.
This hadn't been random.
Not even close.
The barista suddenly looked curious.
"Why are you asking about him?"
Arman forced a small smile.
"Just seemed familiar."
She shrugged and returned to the espresso machine.
Conversation over.
Arman walked back to Samantha.
"Well," he said quietly.
"That answers a few questions."
Her voice was soft.
"He planned everything."
"Yes."
"He knew where I worked."
"Yes."
Her gaze drifted to the window.
"Then he knew where to find me."
Arman followed her gaze.
Outside, the street looked calm.
Normal.
But something about the air felt different now.
Like the danger had stepped closer.
"He recognized me," Samantha said quietly.
"Inside the café."
Arman nodded.
"I saw that."
Her expression tightened.
"That means he knows I'm still here."
The thought hung between them.
Heavy.
Unavoidable.
Arman took a breath.
"Then we use that."
Samantha looked at him.
"Use it?"
"Yes."
"How?"
Arman's eyes darkened slightly.
"If he keeps coming here…"
He glanced toward the empty table by the window.
"…then we watch him."
Samantha tilted her head slightly.
"Watch the man who murdered me."
Arman nodded.
"Exactly."
For the first time since the café confrontation....
Something in Samantha's expression changed.
Not fear.
Something stronger.
Determination.
"Okay," she said.
"We watch him."
But outside the café, across the street....
The man stood beside a parked car.
Watching through the window.
His eyes fixed on Samantha.
And this time, there was no confusion in his expression.
Only recognition.
And patience.
Because he had been waiting for this moment for her to come back.