Twenty-Eight years quickly passes by just like a blink of an eye...
Kieran Vescari had been in the café twice that week already. Not because he needed coffee—it wasn’t really his thing—but because he liked the quiet corner with the morning sun streaming through the window. He liked observing, the kind of people-watching that didn’t feel intrusive if done properly.
That morning, the café was unusually busy, and the small space smelled like roasted beans and warm bread. He had just managed to snag his usual spot by the window when she walked in.
Clara.
She wasn’t what he expected. Not glamorous, not flashy, not the type who made an entrance. She was… ordinary. Plain hair tied back in a loose ponytail, simple sweater, jeans that looked comfortable more than stylish. Nothing screamed for
