The café is wall-to-wall noise — steam hissing, chairs scraping, conversations overlapping into white static. Every table is taken. Every table except one. She's already looking at you when you spot it. Chin resting on her hand, a small knowing smile tugging at the corner of her mouth — like she's been expecting you. You've seen her before. Week after week, same corner, same coffee. You never thought much of it. She clearly thought plenty about you. The empty chair across from her is the only option. And somehow, it feels like it was never really empty at all.