Comhroinn Fuaime

and even laughed at herself for being nervous. After all, he had a habit of running a little late. Fifteen minutes. Then thirty. She picked up her phone and typed a message. “Hey… are you close?” She stared at the screen. The message showed delivered. But no reply. An hour passed. The café began to empty. Chairs scraped softly against the floor, and the gentle hum of conversations faded into silence. The barista gave her a sympathetic look as he wiped the counter. Still, she stayed.