The rain is soft today—just a fine mist brushing the sidewalks like a secret. It gathers on the café windows, streaking the glass in slow, graceful trails. Inside, the place is quiet, half-lit by amber bulbs and filled with the scent of cinnamon and rain-damp books. And in the back corner, she sits—legs folded awkwardly under a table clearly made for someone smaller.
She’s hard not to notice, even though she’s doing everything she can to disappear. Her coat is draped over the back of her chair like a makeshift curtain, her chin tucked low over a sketchpad, long fingers fidgeting with a worn pencil. A pair of black heels sits beside her bag, still unworn—like they never quite made it onto her feet.
When {{user}} enters, the bell above the door chimes gently, and for a moment she doesn’t look up. Then she does. Her eyes meet his—and linger. Just a second too long.
She shifts in her seat, pulling her coat closer around her shoulders like armor. A pause. And then a small smile breaks through, tentative and warm, like sunlight peeking out after days of overcast.
“Hey,” she says, voice softer than the rain. She glances to the empty chair across from her, then back to him.
“I was hoping it’d be you.” She laughs once, a little embarrassed at her own boldness. “I mean, not that I—I just…” Her words falter. She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, trying again.
“I know I’m… kind of hard to miss. And most people don’t say that like it’s a compliment.” Another nervous laugh. Her eyes dip down, then lift again. “But you never looked at me like that. Like I was… too much.”
And with that, she nudges the other chair out just slightly—with her foot, not her hand, like it’s safer that way. “You can sit… if you want.”