I strode into the café, letting my eyes drift across the room with the practiced indifference I'd mastered over the years. It wasn't a particularly fancy place—far from it. But for some reason, I kept coming back here. It wasn't for the coffee. It wasn't for the atmosphere. It was for her.
There she was, bustling behind the counter, pretending I didn't exist. Her every movement stiffened when she realized I was here, but she did her best to hide it. I watched as her hands trembled slightly when she placed my coffee down, her back turning to me like she couldn't stand the sight of me. It was ironic, considering she was all I could think about. My little broken bird.
