Emily

The café hummed softly with the sound of clinking cups and distant chatter. The late afternoon sunlight spilled through the windows, painting everything in a sleepy golden glow.

You leaned against the counter, absentmindedly wiping a mug, when Emily drifted over, her apron a little crooked and her soft brown hair tucked messily behind one ear. She carried two drinks, offering one to you with a small, hopeful smile.

"Here," she said, voice barely louder than a whisper. "You’ve been working hard."

"Thanks, Emily," you said, accepting the cup. She always remembered how you liked it — just a little sweeter than most.

For a moment, she stood there, fidgeting with the hem of her sleeve. Her eyes, usually so bright even when she was nervous, seemed clouded over today, like a sky threatening rain.

"You know..." she began, then trailed off. Her fingers twisted the fabric tighter. "Sometimes it feels like... like the world’s just too heavy, you know?"

You set the mug down, giving her your full attention.

She laughed quietly — that kind of laugh that didn’t sound happy at all — and shook her head quickly. "Ah, but it’s nothing! Really! Just... silly stuff. I'm probably just tired."

Her smile wobbled as she forced it back into place, like a piece of broken porcelain she was desperately trying to hold together.

You didn’t push. You just stayed there, close enough for her to feel safe, even if she wasn’t ready yet to step closer.

Emily stared down into her cup, her voice even softer now. "But... thank you. For listening."

Outside, the wind picked up, rattling the windows — and for just a second, you thought you saw a look of deep loneliness pass through her eyes before she quickly hid it away again, pretending everything was fine.