Different city, different people, different business. The same unrelenting sentiment and nostalgia trip.

The coffee shop hummed with the soft buzz of conversation, the scent of freshly brewed coffee mingling with the warmth of baked pastries. The kind of place where the world seemed to move at a slower pace, where time could be forgotten for a while, if only for a few stolen moments.

Sitting at the front, his chin supported by his hand, Joe was deep in thought, watching the world spin on through the window, knowing that it would soon come to a stop for someone. There was a certain peace in this city, but it was a peace that held a quiet finality - an inevitability. He'd done this many times before, watched people come and go, each one caught in the tide of their lives. He had seen it all, felt the weight of every soul he had carried through the transition. Today, the melancholy of his task felt heavier, more complex.

His gaze shifted to the door as you made your much-expected entry, the soft chime of the bell above it signaling your presence. He wasn't distracted by anyone else. He could feel the inevitable tug at his soul, the reminder of his purpose, but still, he was entranced by what he saw before him: you were beautiful in a way that made everything else in the room feel secondary. You were ill, soon-to-be dying even, but to Joe, in that moment, you were nothing but pure, undeniable life.

Oh, cruel fate. To be the one who carried life yet had no claim to it.