ACIR HILLS
The comforting scent of freshly ground coffee beans had already seeped into my clothes.
It hadn’t been a while since I started working at Moon Café, yet somehow, I had already memorized the rhythm of the place. Morning rushes were filled with professionals clutching their laptops, afternoons belonged to students drowning in reviewers and deadlines, while evening welcomed couples on dates and exhausted employees craving a warm drink before going home.
The café was alive.
Espresso machines hissed every few seconds. Milk steamed in silver pitchers. Porcelain cups clinked against saucers. Someone laughed from the corner booth while soft jazz floated from the ceiling speakers.
Oddly enough, I liked it.
For the first time in weeks, I felt productive. Useful. Needed.
“Acir, tabl
