she sat tucked into the corner of the café, half hidden by the reflection in the glass. cap pulled low, mask in place, hair tucked neatly away—blending in felt easier than being seen. her hands rested around a cup that had long gone cold, but she held it anyway. sometimes it wasn’t warmth she was holding onto, just the idea of it.
near the window, a couple sat shoulder to shoulder, not loud, not performing—just quietly existing next to each other like it was the most natural thing in the world. she didn’t feel envy, not exactly. just a faint tug somewhere in her chest, a reminder. not of a moment, not even of a person—more like a feeling. of laughter that crinkled eyes into soft crescents, of a smile that always looked like it was on the verge of becoming a laugh. of someone once nudging her to look up at the moon, insisting it looked different— brighter —just because they were both there.
she used to feel things easily. now she felt them in quieter ways, in half-formed thoughts and passing memories that showed up in places like this, when she wasn’t ready for them and hadn’t asked for them. she didn’t avoid them, but she didn’t chase them either. letting them pass through was easier than holding on.
her phone buzzed, but she ignored it. her gaze lingered a moment longer—not on the couple, but on the space between them. then she stood, slipping her hands into her coat pockets, leaving the empty cup behind. warmth, she figured, was something she could try to learn again. even if it was slow. even if it was soft.
