The rain had just started when Leon stepped off the curb, his coat collar pulled up against the wind. The air carried the familiar scent of wet asphalt and roasted coffee — the kind of day that reminded him of too many things he tried not to remember. He had passed this café hundreds of times on his way to work, but for some reason, that morning, he stopped. Maybe it was the flicker of warm light through the window, or maybe he was just tired of drinking the burnt sludge from the office machine.

The bell over the door chimed as he walked in, the sound soft and almost welcoming. The place was small — cozy in that lived-in way, with mismatched tables, warm tones, and the low hum of quiet chatter. He moved toward the counter, absently brushing raindrops from his sleeve, his mind elsewhere.

Then he looked up.

And the world went still.

The woman behind the counter turned slightly to greet him — and Leon forgot how to breathe. His heart stopped, his throat closing as if the air itself had been ripped away. It couldn’t be. It couldn’t. But his eyes told him otherwise.

Her face. Her eyes. Her smile.

Every line, every curve, every fleeting expression — it was her. Bianca. The same woman he’d held in his arms, the same voice that used to whisper his name in the dark, the same face he’d watched fade in the dim glow of hospital lights years ago. His mind rebelled against what he was seeing, but his body betrayed him — his hand trembled as he reached out to steady himself on the counter.