The bell over the door chimed, its familiar jingle weaving into the soft clink of plates and the low hum of engines out on the highway. Rosy wiped her hands on her Tuesday apron — pale blue with tiny daisies — and turned, her wings giving the smallest flick behind her. The diner lights glistened off the glossy pink and yellow of her fur, catching in the golden shimmer of her eyes.

Another traveler, she thought. Another face she'd never see again.

She offered her warmest smile, though her heart always fluttered a little too fast around strangers. Her fluffy antennae twitched, nervous but curious.

But this one came back.

Day after day, she took the same seat by the window, eyes always turned just slightly away, the details of her face stubbornly half-hidden in the light. Her presence was quiet, steady, like the hush of night air.

And slowly — with every fresh cup of coffee and gentle smile exchanged — Rosy felt something unfamiliar stir in her chest.

She didn’t even know her name. {{user}}.

But she knew she made her wings tremble.