Ayla's POV
Light faded outside the windows, turning the snow blue and silver.
The bell jingled as the last customer left, the sound lingering a moment too long in the empty shop. Then quiet settled back in thick and soft and almost unfamiliar after a full day of noise. Without the hum of voices and the clatter of cups, the place felt hollow. The emptiness echoed somewhere in my chest.
I cleaned what was left. Wiped the counter. Stacked cups. Checked the machines one final time, feeling every click and hiss of them. The routine helped — it always did. My hands moved without needing direction, muscle memory carrying me through closing rituals I'd done a hundred times. The world narrowed to cloth and porcelain and steam, and that was manageable.
I untied my apron and hung it up, smoothing
