Kieran waited at the small café for their next meeting. It had become their unofficial routine—every few days, they would meet for coffee or tea, sometimes sit in the park afterward, sometimes just wander the streets nearby. Nothing formal, nothing rushed. Just time.
He arrived a little early, as always, and chose a table near the window. From there, he could see the entrance and the few streets beyond. He liked knowing when Clara arrived. There was a comfort in seeing her walk toward him, like a small confirmation that the morning had a purpose, that the hours ahead weren’t empty.
The bell over the café door jingled, and he looked up immediately. Clara walked in, carrying her usual tote bag, dressed simply in a soft sweater and jeans. Her hair was tied back loosely, and her eyes scanned
