Marcelina~
The tea in front of me had gone warm, but I barely noticed.
My attention stayed on the medical book in my hands. I wasn't exactly reading anymore. I was just... there. Breathing. Existing. Letting the quiet settle into me.
At some point, a middle-aged man who had noticed the medical book in my hands stopped by the table and asked if I worked in the medical field.
There was something deeply Italian about him—in his accent, his face, even the way he moved his hands when he spoke. His English wasn't fluent, and neither of us said much, but after a while we settled into a mild conversation.
That was until the man stopped mid-sentence, his eyes lifting over my shoulder. All the color drained from his face and he stood so abruptly.
"I... I'm sorry," he muttered, not even lookin
