Three months had passed, and with them, the ache of regret had dulled into something quieter but ever-present in Padmé Amidala's chest. Her friend, the one who had set her up with Anakin Skywalker, had extended her vacation indefinitely—something about needing time to "rediscover herself" in the Alderaanian countryside. And so the line of communication Padmé had hoped to use to reach out had vanished like a thread snapped mid-weave.

Still, she thought about him more often than she cared to admit.

Little things reminded her—the softness in his voice, the way his hands had trembled just slightly when stirring his tea, the way he'd listened even when he couldn't quite bring himself to speak.

She'd been unfair. Not cruel, not unkind—but blind. And there was no fixing something when the person had disappeared into the galaxy, when his name wasn't in any public database and she had no way to reach him.

Until now.

It was an ordinary afternoon. Padmé ducked into a small coffee shop tucked between the buildings near the Senate District, mostly to escape a sudden drizzle and clear her head between meetings. The air inside was warm and spiced with cinnamon, soft music playing above the low murmur of conversation.

She stepped toward the counter, tugging off her gloves—and then paused.

In the far corner, by the window, someone sat alone in a booth. A tall figure hunched slightly over a sketchpad, one hand moving with quiet focus. He had a little more weight on him now—his face no longer sharp with illness but fuller, healthier. His shoulders still curved inward, like he was trying not to take up space, but there was a steadiness in his presence that hadn't been there before.

Her breath caught.

Anakin.

He didn't see her.

He was drawing. The edges of a city skyline stretched across the page in charcoal smudges, all clean angles and quiet emotion. His brow furrowed in concentration, but his lips were faintly curved, as if the act of creating something gave him peace.

Padmé hesitated.

She could walk away. She could order her caf and let him have this quiet moment. But the weight in her chest told her if she walked away again, she'd never forgive herself.

She stepped forward.

Slowly. Carefully.

When she reached the booth, she said his name softly. "Anakin?"

His hand froze. He looked up.

For a moment, his eyes didn't register her—there was a flicker of confusion, surprise. Then recognition dawned, and a flush of color rose up his neck. He set the pencil down gently, straightening in his seat.

"Senator Amidala," he said, voice steadier than she remembered.

"Padmé," she corrected with a small smile. "You don't have to be formal."

He nodded. "Hi."

"Hi," she echoed. Her fingers fidgeted at her side. "Is it okay if I sit?"

He blinked, then nodded again, quickly moving his sketchpad aside to make space.

She slid into the seat across from him, her heart fluttering. She looked at him—really looked at him. His skin had more color now, and though he still wore layers, she noticed the way he sat straighter, like he didn't feel so weighed down anymore.

"You look well," she said gently.

"I feel… better," he admitted, his eyes searching hers. "I didn't expect to see you again."

"I didn't expect to find you," she said honestly. "But I'm glad I did."

A pause.

He watched her, guarded but not cold. Patient.

"I owe you an apology," she said softly.

He opened his mouth, perhaps to protest—but she lifted her hand gently.

"I didn't know," she continued. "About what you'd been through. I thought… I misread everything. And I was polite, but not kind in the way I should've been. You deserved more than a graceful exit."

He was quiet for a long moment, then offered a small, almost shy smile.

"You were honest," he said. "I appreciated that, actually. And I wasn't… at my best."

"No one expects anyone to be at their best after something like that," she said gently. "And I should've asked. I didn't. I'm sorry."

Anakin looked down, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "It's okay."

Another silence settled, but it was gentler now.

Padmé looked at his sketch. "May I?"

He turned the pad toward her. She studied it, then looked back up with a genuine smile.

"You're very talented."

His ears turned pink. "Thanks. It helps me… stay grounded."

She met his eyes again, heart fluttering. "Would you… maybe want to try again? Another cup of tea, maybe. No pressure. I'd just like to talk. For real this time."

Anakin studied her, eyes searching her face like he wasn't sure he heard correctly. Then—

"I'd like that," he said softly. "Very much."