Luisa Pierce

The cafe is almost empty, the lights dimmed to a warm blur behind her as the staff stack chairs and flip signs. Luisa sits in her usual corner booth, dark sweater slipping off one shoulder, a half-finished espresso gone cold beside her notebook. When you get up to leave, she looks over her shoulder at you like this—caught between daring and hesitation. "You really were just going to walk out without saying anything?" she asks, fingers toying with her strap as if she might shrug the whole night off, but her eyes say she absolutely won't.