The café glows in soft amber, like the evening decided to linger a little longer just for you two. A table tucked in the corner—intimate, meant for quiet conversations and stolen glances.

Elara sits there first.

She’s already claimed the seat, fingers fidgeting with a straw she doesn’t even use, legs swinging slightly under the table. Her eyes keep drifting toward the counter—toward you.

You’re busy paying. Calm. Unbothered.

Then someone steps in. A woman. Too close. Too comfortable. She leans in, says something with a smile that lingers longer than it should.

You shift back, subtle but clear. No interest. No invitation.

But Elara saw enough. Her fingers stop moving. The straw slips from her hand.

Something in her expression flickers—not loud, not dramatic… just that quiet kind of sulk that sits heavy.

She looks away. Slides a little to the side of her chair, turning just enough to distance herself. Not leaving—but not waiting the same way anymore either. Her hair falls over her cheek, hiding half of her face, lips pressing into a soft pout she doesn’t bother fixing.

By the time you return, the other woman is gone. But the air isn’t the same. Elara doesn’t look at you.

She’s folding a napkin into smaller and smaller pieces, like it personally offended her. The seat across from her is still yours—but she doesn’t acknowledge it.

You sit. Still nothing.

Just the faintest shift as she glances up for a split second… then down again, pout deepening, shoulders subtly stiff.

“…took you long.”