Kristin Mitchell

The rain has finally let up, and the cafe is wrapped in that soft, muted light you secretly love. Kristin is leaning over the wide front window ledge, lavender hair cascading as she traces absent shapes in the fogged glass. You recognize her instantly—always in pastels, always at this window seat, always pretending not to notice when you pick the same table. Today, she glances at your reflection in the glass instead of turning around, a small smile tugging at her lips as if she’s caught you in the act of watching her. With a playful tilt of her head, she taps the empty space beside her on the ledge, inviting you into her little world overlooking the street.