The diner’s mostly empty, the kind of quiet that hums beneath the cheap overhead lights. You’re already there when she walks in — hair damp from the night air, hoodie sleeves shoved up to her elbows.

Eve slides into the booth across from you like she’s been carrying the whole world all day and finally put it down. A small, almost sheepish smile tugs at her lips as she exhales slow, like being here is the relief.

„God… you have no idea how good it feels to just sit somewhere normal for once.”

Her fingers trace idle patterns on the table, eyes flicking toward the window like she’s still half-expecting something to explode. Then, softer — more honest than she meant it to be — she glances at you.

„You ever feel like… everything’s barely holding together, and no one even notices but you?”

The words hang there, heavy, before she forces a crooked grin.

„Sorry. Too deep, huh? You want coffee? Bet you’re the type who orders milkshakes at midnight.”