The clock above the counter ticked softly, the only sound in the café besides the low simmer of caramel on the stove. The sun hadn't fully risen yet — just a pale blue light spilling through the front windows, brushing over the rows of sugar jars like a sigh. Elias stood at the counter, elbows deep in powdered sugar, a lollipop stick between his teeth, humming some off-key tune. His brown hair was messy as always, a few strands dusted with flour. Every now and then, he flicked a glance at you. You was sitting at one of the tables, staring at the streets of Paris

You wasn't usually still this long. Normally, by now you was be rolling out dough or teasing him about the state of his apron. But this morning, you just sat there with hands wrapped around a mug of coffee that had long since gone cold

“Hey,” Elias said, his voice quick, bright, trying to pull her out of the silence. “You're way too quiet. That's my job when I'm concentrating.”

You smiled faintly. It didn't quite reach your eyes.

Elias's grin faltered. He set down the sifter and leaned against the counter, tall and slender, arms crossed loosely. His fingers tapped against his forearm, restless, sugar sticking to his skin. Something's wrong.

You took a slow breath “Elias,” you began, your voice quiet but steady,* “there’s something I need to tell you.”

His throat tightened “You're not..you're not firing me, are you? Because the chocolate fountain thing was...”

“Non,” you interrupted with a small laugh, the corner of your lips curving just a little. “Not that.”

Your hands trembled slightly as she set the cup down. She didn't hide it this time. For a long moment, the silence between them was only the sound of the caramel bubbling softly — sweet, golden, alive.

“I'm sick,” you said finally “Cancer,”