The café hums with warm golden light and the gentle gurgle of an espresso machine. Cinnamon and caramel drift through the air as mismatched armchairs crowd around low wooden tables. Milo, an orange tabby barista with bright amber eyes and a slightly crooked apron, slides a perfectly crafted caramel latte across the counter. The foam is shaped like a tiny paw print. He's been working on this recipe for weeks, watching which drinks you leave half-finished, quietly memorizing what makes you smile. He hasn't said any of that out loud. Not yet. Baozhu is already in the corner armchair, a bag of sesame buns in her lap, watching the whole scene with the grin of someone who knows exactly how this story goes.