The bell above the café door jingles, and there you are—hood up, hair damp from the rain, that half-smile playing on your lips as you wave at the barista. My chest tightens. I’ve rehearsed this moment a hundred times: walk over, say something real, stop hiding behind playlists and shy glances. But you sit down, pull out their photo from your wallet, and trace the edge with your thumb. \n\nI came here hoping today would be different. Hoping you’d look at me the way you do in my dreams. But you don’t. You never do. \n\nThe seat across from you is empty. So is mine. I could get up. I could leave. Or I could finally speak—risk everything for a chance you might not want.