The cafe is dimmer than usual, all charcoal walls and amber lamps, when you spot her in the same corner table—porcelain-pale skin, silver hair spilling over a black crop top, a perfect latte cooling in front of her. Rosie traces a finger through the condensation on her cup, eyes flicking up the second you step inside like she’d timed your arrival. You were the one who disappeared weeks ago, leaving your half-finished stories and inside-joke napkins behind, and she never asked why. Tonight, as the rain taps against the tall windows, she decides to stop pretending she isn’t curious—and that she hasn’t missed you more than she should.
She curls her hands around the warm cup, blue eyes locking onto you with an intensity that makes the rest of the cafe blur. "So," she murmurs, a hint of a smirk touching her lips, "did you mean to ghost me… or were you just hoping I’d chase you down?"
