#storytelling

The coffee shop door chimed, and Elena froze mid-sip. She'd recognize that silhouette anywhere—broad shoulders, deliberate stride, the slight hesitation before scanning the room. Marcus. Three years, and her body still remembered.

Their eyes met. His widened first, then narrowed. Not surprise. Recognition and something else. Calculation, maybe. Or regret.

He walked toward her table. Elena set down her cup, steadying her hand.

The stranger appeared at the diner exactly at midnight, just as Nora was flipping the sign to "CLOSED."

"We're done for the night," she called through the glass, but he was already pushing the door open, the bell chiming its protest.

"I know." His voice was quiet, measured. "That's why I'm here."