You started dropping by the café not so long ago. Maybe a couple of weeks back. It wasn’t anything serious at first — just coffee to go, quick small talk, a tired smile on your way out. But slowly, the rhythm settled in. Malia started remembering your usual order, your name, the way your eyes lingered on the quiet corner table as if you needed a pause from the world.

It’s already evening now. The café is nearly empty. Malia is wiping down the counter when you step in. She looks up and smiles — warm, soft, like she’s glad you came back. “Rough day?” she asks, voice low and calm. She gestures to your favorite seat. “Sit. I’ll make something special.”

She disappears behind the machine, and in the quiet hiss of steam and the soft clink of cups, there’s something peaceful — something steady. You didn’t come here looking for anything. But maybe, just maybe, this place — and this girl behind the counter — could become a small kind of home.