HOMECOMING
CHAPTER -1
The café smelled like burnt espresso and birthday candles no one had lit yet.
Detective Oliver Hayes pushed through the door fifteen minutes late, tie loose, badge still clipped to his belt because he hadn’t had time to take it off. Twenty-six hours on shift. A body that wasn’t his case to close yet. A captain who wanted paperwork by morning.
He didn’t want coffee. He wanted a coma.
“Well,” Mina said without looking up, stirring her drink slowly, “look who decided I’m worth showing up for.”
He slid into the booth across from her. Two cups waited on the table—his, exactly how he took it, and something aggressively pink for her.
“I’m sorry, Momma.”
The word slipped out before he could stop it.
Mina froze.
Not dramatically. Just… still.
Then she looked up at him, slow and deliberate, eyes narrowing slightly. “You don’t get to say that like it belongs to you.”
Oliver blinked. “I didn’t mean—”
“You did.” A pause. Her voice dropped a fraction. “And you said it like you’ve said it before.”
Something tightened in his chest.
“I haven’t,” he said.
Mina held his gaze a second longer, like she was weighing that answer.
“Yeah,” she said finally, sitting back. “That’s the weird part.”
Silence hovered for a beat too long.
Then she broke it—abruptly, loudly, throwing both hands in the air.
“Anyway—happy 25th homecoming to Earth. I mean birthday. Obviously. I’m not insane.”
Oliver let out a tired laugh, the sound rough but real. “Homecoming?”
“Brain glitch.”
“Or something else.”
“Don’t start,” she said, pointing at him. “Not today.”
“You brought it up.”
“I regret everything.”
He shook his head, reaching for the coffee. “You always do.”
“Incorrect. I regret you specifically.”
“That’s fair.”
She watched him take a sip, then leaned forward, studying his face more closely than before.
“You look like hell.”
“I feel worse.”
“How long have you been up?”
“Twenty-six hours.”
She winced. “That should be illegal.”
“It probably is.”
“And they still let you carry a gun.”
He didn’t answer.
Mina’s expression shifted, something quieter sliding into place. “That wasn’t a joke.”
“No.”
“Oliver…”
“I’m fine.”
“You say that like it’s a conclusion.”
“It is.”
“It’s not,” she said. “It’s a habit.”
He didn’t argue.
Instead, he reached for the coffee again. She intercepted it, taking a sip first.
“Still bad,” she said.
“You ordered it.”
“I ordered optimism. This is disappointment.”
“Drink your own.”
“No. This one feels more expensive.”
He almost smiled.
They settled after that into something familiar, easy on the surface, quieter underneath. Mina talked more, like she usually did when she could tell he didn’t have the energy to carry both sides.
“My mom used to tell me this story every night,” she said at one point, tracing the rim of her cup. “When I was a kid.”
“Same one?”
“Yeah. Some kingdom, some guard, some girl who makes a terrible decision and spends the rest of her life living with it.”
“That’s cheerful.”
“I liked it.” She shrugged. “Or maybe I just… understood it.”
“At what age?”
“Unclear. Emotionally? Probably too early.”
Oliver watched her, not interrupting.
“I don’t even remember the full plot,” she continued. “Just the feeling. Like—” she paused, searching, “—like breaking something and realizing too late it mattered.”
He didn’t respond.
“I cried every time,” she added, lighter now. “Which is embarrassing. I wasn’t a dramatic child.”
“Liar.”
“Rude.”
“You still cry at commercials.”
“That was one time.”
“It was a dog.”
“He found his owner again.”
“It was shampoo.”
“Don’t diminish his journey.”
A small smile pulled at his mouth before he could stop it.
“I gave you a book about it,” Mina said, watching him now. “Last year.”
“Aethel’s Betrayal.”
Her eyebrows lifted. “You remember.”
“It’s still on my shelf.”
“Finished it?”
He hesitated.
“No.”
“Why not.”
He looked down at his coffee. “Didn’t feel like reading something I already knew the ending to.”
Mina went still again.
“And?” she asked quietly.
“And I didn’t want to know why.”
That landed somewhere between them, heavier than anything else that had been said.
His phone buzzed against the table.
He ignored it.
It buzzed again.
Then a third time, sharper, insistent.
Mina tilted her head. “That’s not casual.”
“No.”
“Then pick it up.”
“I’m off.”
“You’re never off.”
He didn’t respond to that. Just flipped the phone over.
CAPT. REYES — 3 new messages
Case 114-B. Suspect list has been updated. You need to see this before tomorrow’s briefing.Don’t like where this is going.Hayes—it’s her.
Oliver read the messages once.
Then again.
Then a third time, slower, like the words might rearrange themselves into something less specific.
They didn’t.
“Oliver.”
He looked up.
Mina was watching him carefully now, spoon forgotten in her hand.
“You disappeared.”
“Yeah.”
“That bad?”
He locked the screen and set the phone face down.
“It can wait.”
She didn’t look convinced. “That’s not what your face says.”
“My face lies.”
“No,” she said softly. “You just wish it did.”
He exhaled slowly. “It’s work.”
“It’s always work.”
“Comes with the job.”
“No,” Mina said again, leaning forward slightly. “That’s just what you hide behind.”
He didn’t push back.
She reached across the table and took his hand, threading her fingers through his like it was the most natural thing in the world.
“Listen to me,” she said, her tone shifting—firmer now, steady. “Whatever that is, leave it there. Just for tonight.”
“I don’t know how.”
“I know.”
Her thumb moved slowly over his knuckles.
“You never have.”
There was something in the way she said it—too certain, too familiar.
“How long have you known me?” Oliver asked.
She didn’t hesitate.
“Long enough.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It is if you don’t think too hard about it.”
He held her gaze.
She smiled like she hadn’t said anything strange.
Later, at the corner where they split, she stopped.
“Can I say something weird?” Mina asked.
“You usually do.”
“Shut up. This one’s serious.”
He nodded.
She hesitated—rare for her.
“Sometimes,” she said slowly, “when I look at you… it feels like I’m remembering you. Not seeing you.”
Oliver’s chest tightened.
“Like I’ve already lost you,” she continued. “And I don’t know when. Or how. Just—gone.”
The street felt quieter.
“That’s not normal,” she added, trying to laugh it off. “Right?”
“No,” he said. “It’s not.”
A pause.
“Do you—”
“Yes.”
She blinked. “You didn’t even let me finish.”
“I know what you were going to ask.”
“And?”
He met her eyes.
“I feel it too.”
That stopped everything.
For a second, neither of them moved.
Then Mina stepped closer, rising onto her toes, and kissed him—brief, warm, careful.
“Happy birthday, Oliver,” she murmured.
“Thank you.”
She pulled back, studying his face like she was trying to memorize it.
“You should finish the book.”
“Maybe.”
Her expression sharpened slightly.
“No. Not maybe.”
Something in her tone shifted—subtle, but undeniable.
“Finish it.”
He didn’t argue.
“Goodnight, Oliver.”
“Goodnight, Mina.”
She turned and walked away.
He watched her until she disappeared around the corner.
Didn’t call her back.
Didn’t check his phone.
Just stood there, the night settling around him, her words echoing somewhere deeper than they should have.
He didn’t know yet what it’s her meant.
Didn’t know what name was waiting for him in the morning.
Didn’t know the woman who had just kissed him goodnight would be sitting across from him soon under fluorescent light, with a table between them and questions neither of them were ready to answer.
For now, there was only the walk home.
The taste of coffee.
Her voice in his head.
And something quiet behind his ribs—
not sharp, not loud—
just waiting.
Like it had done this before.
