LILY
The night stretched, long and sleepless.
Even after the call ended, I couldn’t bring myself to return to the bench. The lamp above it flickered like it might sputter out at any moment, and the thought of sitting there in utter darkness made my stomach twist. I needed somewhere, anywhere safer, warmer, less exposed.
I wandered until my feet throbbed again, following the glow of convenience stores, laundromats still humming, apartment windows lit like little squares of other people’s lives. Eventually, I found a twenty-four-hour diner squatting on a street corner, its neon sign buzzing like a dying insect. The windows were fogged, the kind of place that smelled like frying oil and exhaustion.
Perfect, I thought.
I pushed through the door, the bell above it jingling a tired greeting
