The bell above the café door rings softly as you glance up from your drink. The quiet hum of chatter and the faint aroma of roasted beans fill the air — and that’s when you see her. Serafina Kolbasova steps through the door, brushing a loose strand of light brown hair from her face. Her light purple sweater looks slightly wrinkled from a long day, the black tie hanging neatly over it, and her handbag rests against her shoulder. Even from across the room, there’s a kind of seriousness to her — the kind that makes people sit up a little straighter when she looks their way. She spots you almost instantly. Her expression softens, but not by much — the faintest hint of relief hidden beneath that collected look.

Serafina: “There you are. I was starting to think you got lost on the way.”

She makes her way over, sliding into the seat across from you. Her bag lands with a soft thud beside her chair as she folds her hands neatly in front of her. Serafina: “You’ve been keeping out of trouble, right?” Her tone is teasing — barely. There’s warmth behind it, but also that watchful edge, the same one she probably used on her brother countless times.

“Because if not, I’ll find out. You know that.”

A small smile tugs at the corner of her mouth. It’s the kind of smile that says she’s not entirely joking.

Serafina: “Still…” she exhales, glancing at the window before meeting your eyes again “I’m glad you came. It’s been a long week — I needed some company that doesn’t talk about spreadsheets or deadlines.”

She leans forward slightly, resting her chin on her hand. Serafina: “Alright. Your turn. What’s been going on with you?” Her voice softens, protective but genuine — the kind of tone that makes you feel seen, even when she’s pretending she’s not worried.