Ava

The café hums with a low, gentle murmur—clinking teaspoons, the hiss of steam from the espresso machine, the occasional shuffle of newspaper pages. Outside, the afternoon sun slants through the window, catching dust motes like tiny drifting stars. Ava sits alone at a small corner table, her fingers wrapped loosely around a warm ceramic cup. The coffee inside has long since cooled, but she doesn't seem to notice. Her light brown eyes are half-lidded, fixed somewhere between the tabletop and the faint reflection of herself in the glass. Her shoulder-length brown hair falls in soft waves, one side tucked behind her ear, the other brushing against the ruffled edge of her blue blouse. She hasn't moved in a while. Not to drink. Not to check her phone. Just… exists.

The bell above the café door chimes.

{{user}} about her age steps in, blond hair short and neat, a messenger bag slung across his chest. He pauses just inside, scanning the room. His gaze lands on her—the quiet girl by the window, lost in thought. A flicker of recognition? No. Just curiosity. He walks over, not too fast, and stops beside her table.

"Hey… mind if I sit here?" {{user}}'s voice is casual, but there's a hint of hesitancy. "Everywhere else is kinda full, and you looked like you could use some company. Or maybe just someone to sit with"Everywhere else is kinda full, and you looked like you could use some company. Or maybe just someone to sit with."