CHAPTER 3
1181 Words
Elara woke to the faint hum of the heater and the soft gray light of morning slipping through the curtains. For a moment, she didn’t move. She lay still, staring at the ceiling, letting her mind catch up with her body.
Another day.
She turned her head toward the window. The sky outside was dull and clouded, the kind of morning that felt heavier than it should. She pushed herself upright slowly, brushing a hand through her hair before swinging her legs over the edge of the bed.
The apartment was quiet, but not silent. She could hear the faint shuffle of movement from the kitchen her mother already awake. The smell of toast drifted down the hall.
She washed up quickly, pulled on a simple pair of jeans and a dark sweater, and stepped out into the hallway. Isla’s door was slightly open. Elara paused,
A soft cough.
She stepped inside quietly. Isla was awake, staring at her phone.
“Morning” Isla said, her voice still thick with sleep.
“Morning” Elara replied.
She studied her sister for a second longer than necessary the faint shadows under her eyes, the way her breathing seemed slightly heavier today, something to note.
“You good?” Elara asked.
Isla shrugged. “I’ve been worse.”
That earned the faintest lift at the corner of Elara’s mouth.
“I’ll be back late” she said. “Inventory day.”
Isla groaned dramatically. “Tell your boss I said to cancel it.”
“I’ll consider it.”
She stepped out before Isla could respond.
In the kitchen, their mother stood over the stove, flipping eggs with careful precision.
“You’re up early,” her mother said.
“I have to open.”
Her mother nodded and slid a plate toward her. “Eat first.”
Elara did, quietly.
Before leaving, she glanced back toward the hallway.
“Make sure she takes her medication,” she said gently.
Her mother gave her a look. “I always do.”
She grabbed her jacket and stepped out.
***
The bell above the café door chimed as she entered, bringing with it the smell of roasted coffee and something sweet baking in the oven.
“You’re on time,” Thelma announced from behind the counter.
Elara tied her apron without responding immediately. “That’s usually how jobs work.”
Thelma gasped. “So serious this early?”
Thelma was already moving wiping down the espresso machine, humming off-key. Her hair was tied up high today, and she wore eyeliner slightly uneven but confidently so.
Where Elara conserved energy, Thelma spent it freely.
“You look like you didn’t sleep,” Thelma added, leaning forward slightly.
“I slept.”
“Convincing.”
Elara gave her a look
The morning rush came fast and loud. Orders overlapped. Cups stacked. The grinder roared every few minutes. Elara moved smoothly through it all efficient, quiet, precise.
“Two americanos!”
“Coming.”
By midday, the rush softened. A few regulars lingered. A couple argued quietly in the corner. Someone laughed too loudly near the window.
Thelma slid beside her while they refilled the pastry case.
“So,” Thelma said casually, “you ever think about leaving?”
Elara didn’t look up. “Leaving what?”
“This. The city. The café. Everything.”
Elara adjusted a tray slightly. “Everyone leaves eventually.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
Silence stretched for a second.
“I’m saving,” Elara said finally.
“For?”
“College.”
Thelma blinked. “You never said that.”
“You never asked.”
Thelma studied her like she was trying to solve something.
“You’d be good at something important,” Thelma said after a moment.
Elara glanced at her briefly. “Important is subjective.”
Thelma shook her head. “You do that thing.”
“What thing?”
“Where you act like you don’t care about things you clearly care about.”
Elara didn’t respond to that.
By late afternoon, the sky outside had darkened slightly. The manager approached them with a clipboard.
“Inventory tonight. We’re short staffed can one of you stay?"
Thelma immediately pointed at Elara. “She loves counting.”
Elara exhaled softly. “I can stay.”
“You sure?” Thelma asked quietly.
“It’s fine.”
It wasn’t that she loved extra work. But extra hours meant extra pay.
By the time the café closed, the street outside was nearly empty. The chairs were flipped upside down onto tables. The lights dimmed.
Elara stood on a small ladder, counting syrup bottles.
“Thirty-two… thirty-three…”
The café felt different at night. Larger. Hollow.
Thelma had left an hour earlier after promising to “owe her something dramatic.”
When Elara finally locked the door behind her, it was later than she expected. Her phone buzzed lightly in her pocket.
She checked it.
A missed call from her mother.
Her stomach tightened slightly.
Another missed call.
A message.
She stopped walking under the streetlight and opened it.
Call me when you see this.
That was it.
No explanation.
She dialed immediately.
It rang.
And rang.
And then
“Elara?”
Her mother’s voice sounded breathless.
“What happened?” Elara asked, already walking faster.
“It’s Isla. She—”
The call crackled.
“Elara she started coughing and I think it’s worse this time”
The line cut.
Elara didn’t think after that. She ran.
The apartment door was slightly open when she got there.
she pushed the apartment door open and immediately heard coughing from the living room.
Not the light kind from that morning.
The deeper kind.
She dropped her bag by the door and stepped inside. Isla was sitting forward on the couch, one hand pressed to her chest while their mother rubbed her back.
“It’s fine,” Isla managed between breaths. “It just caught weird.”
“It didn’t ‘just catch,’” their mother muttered, clearly shaken.
Elara crouched in front of her sister. “Slow down,” she said evenly. “Breathe in through your nose.”
Isla tried, coughed again, then steadied.
It took a minute, maybe two, but the episode passed. Her breathing evened out, though it still sounded heavier than it should have.
The three of them sat there quietly after that terrifying experience.
“You need to call the doctor tomorrow,” Elara said.
“We will,” their mother answered.
Isla leaned back against the couch cushions. “I hate when you both look at me like that.”
“Like what?” Elara asked.
“Like I’m glass.”
Elara didn’t respond to that. She just reached for the blanket draped over the chair and handed it to her.
“You’re not glass,” she said. “You’re dramatic.”
That got a weak smile.
But when Elara stood and walked to the kitchen for water, her hands weren’t as steady as she wanted them to be.
She didn’t say anything about that.
- Writer
