The café Liz picked was tucked on a quiet corner between a bookstore and a florist. It was the kind of place with too many plants and not enough tables, and everything smelled like cinnamon and clean wood.
It was the first time I'd been anywhere that didn't smell like antiseptic or coffee burnt into the bottom of a hospital vending machine in weeks. I didn't realise how much that mattered until we sat down and I let out a breath I didn't know I'd been holding.
"Come on," Liz said, nudging a croissant toward me. "Eat the overpriced pastry. I'm pretty sure it cost more than your rent in college."
I smiled faintly but didn't reach for it. My fingers curled around the warm mug between my hands, and I stared out the window for a beat. The world felt… oddly distant. It kept moving while I sat still.
