Chapter 3
Friday arrived like a sigh, the kind that pressed against the chest and lingered there.
The café was busier than usual. A storm was forecasted for the weekend, and people seemed to crave warmth—steamed milk, flaky croissants, conversation in safe corners. Lena moved between customers like a dancer with sore feet. She smiled, nodded, poured, but inside, she was unraveling.
Her mother's hospital called earlier that morning. The bills were stacking too high. There were no words left to argue with.
"Lena," Chloe whispered, coming up beside her. "There's a lady asking for you."
Lena blinked. "A customer?"
Chloe nodded. "But like…a customer. Expensive shoes, coat that screams 'untouchable.' Could be royalty, for all I know."
Something tightened in Lena's stomach. She turned slowly.
Sophia.
She stood there, not in the usual rush of cold perfection but hesitant, as if unsure whether she belonged in such an ordinary space. Her coat was navy. Her scarf silk. And yet, her eyes looked softer than Lena remembered.
Sophia spoke first. "Your café has good coffee. And quiet. I needed both."
Lena nodded. "Then you came to the right place."
There was a pause. Not awkward. Just stretched.
"Would you like something?" Lena asked, already reaching for a cup.
Sophia's voice was calm. "I'll take whatever you recommend."
Chloe, eavesdropping behind the espresso machine, raised her brows like she was watching a rom-com unfold. Lena ignored her.
"One moment," Lena said.
She made the drink carefully. Lavender oat milk latte—gentle, floral, something she thought might suit someone who looked like marble but had eyes like regret.
When she handed it over, their fingers brushed—barely.
"Thank you," Sophia murmured, pausing before walking away.
Lena turned back to the counter. She didn't dare look again. Her heart pounded, confused and cautious. Nothing about this was normal. And yet, she didn't want it to be.
⸻
Back at the corner table, Sophia sat with the warm cup cradled in her hands. She didn't drink it immediately. She simply stared at the steam curling into the air, as if it held something sacred.
Across from her, silence wrapped around the noise of the café. She wasn't used to spaces like this—unpolished, unpretentious. It made her feel…small. But not in a bad way.
More like humbled.
She thought about saying more to Lena. About asking her name even though she already knew it. About why her voice had stayed in her head for days. But what did she have to offer a girl like her? Money? Power? An escape?
No. That was the problem. Lena didn't look like she wanted to be saved. She looked like she was fighting to save herself.
⸻
Later that night, Lena lay in bed, her mother breathing faintly in the next room.
"She came back," Lena whispered into the dark. She didn't say Sophia's name out loud, didn't dare to turn the moment into a dream. But something about the woman's presence stuck to her skin. It was confusing. It was gentle.
She didn't know what Sophia wanted.
But she wanted to know.
⸻
At the same time, miles away, Sophia stood in front of her bathroom mirror, expensive cream untouched on the counter.
She looked at her reflection and wondered how long it had been since anyone had spoken to her without a title attached. No expectations. No favors owed. Just quiet, simple presence.
The barista—Lena—wasn't just kind. She was real. And it scared Sophia more than she'd admit.