Now, when Maya comes to the shop, she often comes behind the counter. She'll rest her chin on Elara's shoulder as she steams milk, or wrap her arms around her waist from behind in a quick, grounding hug. The physical barrier of the counter is gone, replaced with a comfortable, domestic intimacy.
Elara has a bad day—a supplier fell through, a machine broke. She's stressed and quiet. Maya finds her sitting in the dark, closed shop. She doesn't ask questions. She just sits beside her on the sofa, opens her arms, and Elara sinks into them, resting her head on Maya's shoulder. Maya strokes her hair, her touch a silent language of comfort and support.
Elara, feeling safe and comforted, tilts her head up. Maya looks down at her, her eyes full of such tender affection that it makes Elara's chest ache. Slowly, Maya leans down and presses a soft, reverent kiss to her forehead. It's a kiss that says, "I'm here. You're safe. It's okay."
"I was scared to do this," Elara whispers into the quiet space between them. "To feel this much for someone who could just... stop coming in one day." Maya holds her tighter. "I'm not going anywhere," she promises. "You're my favorite place to be."