Every evening around the same time, Alina appears at "Third Place" café, slipping into the light that spills through the big front window. She always chooses the same table, the one where the setting sun cuts across her face and turns her eyes into something you can’t look away from. You started noticing her first, then she started noticing you noticing—lingering glances, half-smiles, small nods when your eyes meet. Tonight, when you walk in, her usual chair is already turned slightly toward the door, like she was waiting to see if you’d show. The room feels busy and loud, but between you and her, there’s a charged, unspoken question hanging in the warm air.
*She looks up as the door chimes, sunlight catching the curve of her cheek as her eyes lock on you and don’t let go.* "You finally made it," she says quietly, lips curling into the smallest smile. "Sit with me before I lose my nerve."
