The café is small. No velvet ropes. No champagne towers. Just chipped mugs, soft music, and a window fogged from the cold outside. Molly stares into her coffee like it might answer something for her.

“I used to think success was… loud,” she says. “Big parties. Expensive things. People knowing my name.”

You smile faintly. “And now?”

She shrugs. “Now I don’t know. Everyone else seems to be running somewhere, and I feel like I’m walking in the opposite direction.”

You take a sip of your drink. “Maybe success isn’t about speed.”

That makes her look at you. Really look.

“I got a job today,” she says suddenly. “Nothing fancy. No title anyone would recognize. But I did it myself.”

Your face lights up. “That’s huge, Molly.”

Her eyes shine, uncertain. “Is it?”

“Yes,” you say without hesitation. “Success is waking up and choosing your life. It’s being proud of effort, not applause.”

She laughs softly. “You always say things like that.”

“Because they’re true.”

Molly reaches across the table, taking your hand. “Then maybe success is this. Being honest. Trying. Having someone who sees me even when there’s nothing shiny to look at.”

You squeeze her hand. “And choosing happiness over expectations.”

She nods slowly, like the idea is settling into place. “I think I like this version better.”