553Please respect copyright.PENANAQDn5PkJtau
Talia poured coffee like her body was running on autopilot.
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Customer. Mug. Smile. Repeat.
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The diner buzzed around her like a film she was watching from the outside. She could hear laughter, clinking dishes, the cook shouting out orders. But it didn’t reach her.
553Please respect copyright.PENANAin9yYME06b
She barely spoke unless someone asked for something. Even then, it felt like moving underwater.
553Please respect copyright.PENANAMyqBkDRnbb
Nobody noticed. Or maybe they did and just didn’t care.
553Please respect copyright.PENANAlncbzOO5wl
Except Jonas.
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He always sat in booth three, always ordered black coffee and a grilled cheese. And always said, “Thanks, Talia,” like her name meant something.
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Today, he looked at her longer than usual.
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“You okay?” he asked.
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She blinked. A full second passed before she gave him her usual answer:
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“Yeah.”
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He didn’t push. Just nodded.
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But after he left, she found a napkin folded under his coffee cup.
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It said:
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“You don’t look fine. If you ever want to talk, I’m always in booth three.”
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553Please respect copyright.PENANAs5ZwGQxUEc
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She didn’t know whether to cry or tear it up.
553Please respect copyright.PENANAkZ1QJT0nZM
So she put it in her pocket and kept pouring coffee.
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