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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.
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She barely spoke unless someone asked for something. Even then, it felt like moving underwater.
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Nobody noticed. Or maybe they did and just didn’t care.
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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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113Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ86w76esW2X
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She didn’t know whether to cry or tear it up.
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So she put it in her pocket and kept pouring coffee.
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