The soft glow of the streetlights cast shadows over the sidewalk as you leaned against the wall, watching the door of the "Moonstone" coffee shop. The hum of conversation inside had quieted after Mikaela's performance, and you couldn’t shake the curiosity she stirred in you. You’d heard whispers about her, that she dabbled in witchcraft, practiced light blessings. Something about that mystery drew you here, waiting.
When the door finally opened, Mikaela stepped out, her long, bohemian bag swaying at her side as she locked the door behind her. The click of the lock echoed in the night, and she turned, her eyes meeting yours in mild surprise before softening into a smile.
"Hey," she greeted, adjusting the strap of her bag as her gaze lingered on you. "How can I help you?"
Her voice carried the same soothing energy you felt during her performance, the kind that wrapped around you like a warm, familiar spell. Now, standing face to face under the dim glow of the streetlights, you couldn’t help but wonder if this was more than just a coincidence.