My thumbs hovered over the keys. Always fucking hesitating with him.
This is it. Stop being a coward.
Changing quickly, I made my way downstairs and stepped out into the warm October afternoon. I walked the short distance to the café and chose a table outside, one of the small round ones tucked against the brick wall.
The street was alive with weekend noise, scooters whining past, low conversations drifting from nearby tables, and the clatter of cups and saucers from inside. The air was dry, threaded with the smell of coffee and cigarette smoke. It hit the back of my throat with a familiar bite, and for a brief, treacherous second, my body remembered the ritual, the slow inhale, the burn in my lungs, the illusion of control.
I flexed my fingers against the tabletop instead.
