The café buzzed with the hum of conversation, the clinking of cups, and the occasional hiss of the espresso machine.
I sat across from Ethan at a corner table, absentmindedly stirring my coffee. My thoughts were a tangled mess, and though I had come here to talk, the words felt like lead on my tongue.
Ethan, ever patient, watched me with his steady gaze. "You've been quiet," he said gently, his voice low enough that it didn't feel intrusive.
"I've been thinking," I replied, my tone sharper than intended. I sighed and looked out the window, watching strangers pass by with the kind of freedom I longed for. "About everything. About us. About what's next."
Before Ethan could respond, the atmosphere around us shifted. The air seemed to thicken with tension, and a familiar, grating voice broke through the ambient noise like nails on a chalkboard.
