The café was warm and quiet, bathed in soft lights hanging low like stars fallen from the night sky. In one corner, a small round table had been simply decorated with a scented candle and a single bouquet of white roses—Vania’s favorite flower.

Devandra sat alone, glancing at his watch for the umpteenth time. His light blue shirt was crisp, his hair neatly combed back, and in front of him sat a small cake with the words “Happy Birthday, Vania” written in delicate frosting.

No big ...