
185Please respect copyright.PENANAnZNukN1Zj8
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.
185Please respect copyright.PENANAQkcAcOM818
She barely spoke unless someone asked for something. Even then, it felt like moving underwater.
185Please respect copyright.PENANAqk7lQQ2dj5
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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185Please respect copyright.PENANAYDjSdquE9H
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She didn’t know whether to cry or tear it up.
185Please respect copyright.PENANAT0Kb3IcmHr
So she put it in her pocket and kept pouring coffee.
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