The rain came early that morning: fine, cold needles whispering against the glass, soft enough to sound almost forgiving. But inside the café, forgiveness had no place. The world smelled of roasted beans and burnt toast, and Mellisah's chewing gum cracked through the quiet like a whip.
She flipped the Open sign with a flick of her wrist and adjusted her apron, a lazy smirk tugging at her lip as she blew a bubble and let it pop. "Another long day," she muttered, the sound of her gum echoing louder than her enthusiasm.
The doorbell jingled. Aira looked up.
A man stepped in, shaking off the rain from his coat, his companion close behind. Drops glimmered like tiny shards of glass in his hair, the morning light pale and brittle behind him.
Aira straightened. "Good morning, Mr. Kang," she said softly, forcing the warmth into her voice like an actress remembering her lines. "The usual?"
He nodded, distracted. "And a cappuccino for her."
Aira scribbled the order, handed the slip to Mellisah, who didn't even look up.
"Not my job," Mellisah drawled, popping another bubble. "You want caffeine, you make it."
Aira's smile didn't falter, though something inside her coiled tight. She swallowed the irritation the same way she had learned to swallow hunger years ago—quietly, invisibly.
Steam hissed from the espresso machine, rising like ghosts around her. The milk frothed beneath her careful hands, a delicate heart blooming atop one cup while the other remained black and strong, no sugar, just as he liked it.
When she brought them over, laughter already floated from the couple's table, soft, careless, like they lived in a world where nothing ever went wrong. Aira set the cups down gently, wishing she could trade places with them for a single morning.
"Did you hear about that?" the woman asked, smiling over the rim of her cup. "Liu Wei said—"
Aira froze.
The name hit her like a slap.
For a moment, the café dissolved. The hiss of the coffee machine became sirens screaming through an old street. Rain became flashing police lights.
A little girl, six, trembling, pressed her face against a cold window. Papa! she cried as men dragged her father through the yard, his eyes dark and unreadable. Her mother's hands gripped her shoulders, nails biting into skin, dragging her back. Don't look. Don't look, Chloe.
Aira blinked. The coffee had spilled, a dark stain spreading across the table like a wound.
"Oh my god! are you alright?" the woman asked.
Her breath stuttered. "I-I-I'm fine," Aira whispered, grabbing napkins, mopping up the mess with shaking hands. Her reflection in the coffee looked unfamiliar—pale, frightened, haunted.
Mellisah leaned on the counter, chewing her gum slowly, watching. "Weirdo," she muttered under her breath, too lazy to hide it.
Aira didn't respond. She simply smiled, the kind of brittle smile that broke if you stared too long, and returned to her station.
The café fell quiet again—only the hum of the espresso machine and the rain's steady tapping remained.
When the last customer left, Aira finally let out the breath she'd been holding. The silence pressed in on her, heavy but oddly comforting. She leaned against the counter, her gaze drifting to the window.
Outside, the world had turned to watercolor—streets blurred, headlights smeared into streaks of gold. Behind the glass, she saw her own reflection, faint and tired. The woman staring back looked like someone who'd lived too many lives and never truly escaped any of them.
You can't run forever, Chloe.
Her old name echoed like a ghost in her head. She hadn't heard anyone call her that in years, yet the syllables still carried the weight of her mother's lullabies, the tenderness that came before everything shattered.
"Liu Chloe," she whispered into the quiet, as if saying it aloud would make her real again.
Her phone buzzed on the counter, making her jump. The cracked screen flickered to life.
From: Utility Services
Payment overdue. Balance due in three days. Disconnection scheduled if unpaid.
She stared at it blankly, then sighed, rubbing her forehead. "Another one," she muttered. "I'll pay it tonight after my night shift."
But before she could set it down, another vibration jolted through her hand.
No sender. No contact name. Just one cold, perfect line glowing on the screen:
Did you think you could run from blood?
I'm always watching you.
The words burned into her vision.
Aira's pulse faltered. The phone slipped from her grasp, clattering against the floor with a sharp crack that echoed through the café. Her breath hitched—each inhale too shallow, too loud.
Then she saw it.
In the reflection of the rain-smeared window, across the empty street, a figure stood in the downpour. Still. Unmoving. Watching.
Her heartbeat roared in her ears. Every instinct screamed to look away, but she couldn't.
Outside, thunder rolled low and distant, a growl beneath the storm.