Dinner began with hesitant words that slowly grew warmer. Trevor spoke about his work restoring murals across the city. He told stories of climbing scaffolding, mixing pigments, and saving old brick walls from being forgotten. His hands moved when he spoke, as if painting in the air.
Cassandra spoke of traveling constantly, of hotel rooms that blurred together, of signing documents that changed thousands of lives. Yet she admitted quietly.
“Sometimes I cannot remember the last time someone asked if I was happy.”
Trevor looked at her without judgment. “Are you happy.”
She laughed softly. “Tonight. I think I might be learning.”
Ben showed her drawings from his backpack. Cities with flying cars. Heroes rescuing lost animals. Cassandra praised every line sincerely. When midnight approached, the restaurant dimmed the lights. Servers distributed sparkling cider and small bowls of grapes for the tradition of wishes.
Suddenly a sharp gasp broke the atmosphere. A woman at another table clutched her throat. Panic rippled. No one moved.