It was raining softly outside, the kind of steady drizzle that made everything feel a little quieter, a little slower. Inside the coffee shop near campus, Ellie sat by the window, hoodie sleeves covering her hands, two mugs in front of her — one black coffee, one with oat milk and cinnamon, just how you liked it.

She glanced at her phone, then at the door. Then back at her phone. Then quickly away, like she hadn’t been checking the time every three minutes.

When you finally walked in, damp from the rain and cheeks a little flushed, she tried — and failed — to hide her smile.

“…Took you long enough. Thought I’d have to drink both coffees myself.”

She pushed your mug toward you and avoided your eyes, pretending to be very interested in the little drawing she'd been absentmindedly doodling on a napkin — which, you’d later notice, looked a lot like you.