In the heart of the city, tucked between an old bookstore and a vintage tailor, sat a small café that smelled of burnt sugar and early morning regrets. Locals called it "The Nest," but the real attraction wasn't the expensive pastries or the strange modernist art hanging crookedly on the walls.
It was her.
The girl behind the counter with that worn leather satchel always stashed beneath the bar. The one with eyes like twilight and fingers that moved like she was afraid of breaking the world. No one knew her name. Not really. But they knew her smile. Knew the way she'd hum low under her breath while steaming milk, like she was singing to ghosts.
She showed up every morning at 6:30 sharp. Brewed the first pot before the manager even stepped in. And by nightfall, she was gone—leaving behind only the faint scent of old maps and the coppery tang of earth on her boots.
Because by day she served coffee and quiet wit.
And by night… she hunted relics.
The bells above the café door gave their usual soft chime, and the barista glanced up instinctively from where she was pouring a cup. Another customer, mid-morning, slow hour.
The woman who walked in looked familiar. Too familiar.
It was her.
The nurse from the hospital.
She wasn't in uniform this time—just a light blouse tucked into worn jeans, a satchel slung over one shoulder, and ash-brown hair loosely tied back. But those unmistakable lavender eyes locked on Serin like they'd found something they weren't supposed to.
The woman stepped up to the counter, head tilting slightly as if she were piecing together a memory.
"You're Serin, right?"
The question landed with a quiet weight.
Serin blinked, startled for a moment that she even remembered. "…Yeah."
"I knew it," the woman smiled, relief dancing across her face. "Didn't think I'd actually run into you again—awake and not covered in dirt this time."
Serin raised a brow, hand resting on the edge of the espresso machine. "I clean up well."
"I'm Primrose," the nurse said, offering a short wave before leaning on the counter. "Prim, if we're friends."
Serin blinked again, her lips twitching at the phrasing. "Are we?"
Prim gave a playful shrug. "You tell me. I did hold your hand while you were unconscious. Rather forward, isn't it?"
Serin let out a breathy laugh. "That's… not how I imagined meeting someone again."
"Coffee, please, Serin," Prim said lightly, tapping the counter with a grin. "Then we can pretend we're strangers again."
Prim wandered over to a small table by the window, dropping her bag on the chair across from her and pulling out a well-worn book. She flipped it open with a content sigh, already making herself at home.
Serin couldn't help watching for a second longer than necessary. There was something oddly soothing about her presence—like déjà vu stretched across lifetimes.
With a tiny shake of her head, Serin stepped into the back to prep the order.
The storage room was dim, the overhead bulb flickering like it had a grudge. She grabbed a fresh pack of imported beans from the bottom shelf, the paper wrap snug around the box like it had no intention of letting go.
"Of course," she muttered, grabbing the box cutter from the hook nearby.
She sliced across the top, but the knife jerked—maybe she wasn't paying attention, maybe the wrap was just stubborn. Either way, the blade slipped, catching the edge of her palm.
"Damn—"
It wasn't deep, but blood welled up fast, seeping between her fingers.
Serin hissed and dropped the cutter onto the floor. She grabbed a rag from the counter and pressed it against the wound, but something strange happened before the sting could even settle in.
A glimmer.
That same eerie blue-violet hue from the orb—just for a second—flowed from the edges of the cut, like liquid light.
She watched, heart caught in her throat, as the skin knit itself back together. Smooth. Seamless. Not even a scar.
"…Okay."
She stared at her hand for a long beat, flexing the fingers slowly.
"I'm officially losing it."
The lights flickered overhead, almost like they agreed.
Still cradling her hand out of habit, she returned to the front counter where Prim was still engrossed in her book.
Serin set the cup down with a practiced motion. "One coffee. No bleeding in it. Promise."
Prim peered up with a smirk. "That's a very particular guarantee."
Serin forced a smile and turned back to the counter, mind still lingering in the storage room—where something had just reminded her that life wasn't going to stay normal for long.
Prim sat quietly at the corner table, her fingers curled around the warm mug Serin had handed her earlier. She wasn't reading anymore—just… watching.
Serin, busy behind the counter, moved with practiced ease. A smile here, a coffee there. Her apron fluttered slightly as she turned, tucking a strand of her long hair behind her ear.
Out of the corner of her eye, Serin caught Prim's gaze. It lingered just a moment too long, but instead of feeling uneasy, she felt oddly calm. She returned the glance with a faint smile and a small nod before turning back to finish the current order.
One by one, the morning rush dissolved. Chairs scraped. Conversations faded. The bell above the door jingled for the last time before noon.
Then, soft footsteps. Prim approached the counter once more.
"You're really good at this," she said "Running the show solo?"
Serin chuckled, wiping her hands on a towel. "It's not always this chaotic. Just Mondays."
Prim tilted her head slightly. "Still… impressive."
There was a beat of silence before Prim leaned a little closer, voice low and almost hesitant. "I know this is a bit forward, but… would you care to grab a coffee with me sometime? Somewhere outside this place, I mean."
Serin blinked, a bit taken aback. "You're inviting me for coffee… after I served you coffee?"
Prim laughed softly. "Perhaps I'm a touch greedy."
Prim stood there for a second longer, almost like she was waiting for something—maybe a laugh, maybe a refusal. But when Serin only smiled, the kind that crinkled slightly at the corners, Prim seemed to lose a bit of her nerve.
"Well," she muttered, eyes darting away, "that was a swing and a miss, wasn't it?"
She didn't wait for an answer. With a self-conscious shrug, she turned on her heel and made her way back to the table she'd claimed. Serin watched her go, lips still curled in a soft smile. She shook her head—not in disbelief, not in disapproval. Just... amused. And maybe a little charmed.
Prim sat back down, fidgeting with the dog-eared pages of her book. She stared at the mug again, now empty, like maybe it would refill itself if she wished hard enough.
Serin dried her hands, the towel hanging loosely between her fingers as she glanced once more toward the table.
Prim was pretending not to look. She failed miserably.
With a sigh that wasn't quite annoyance—and a smile that gave her away—Serin stepped out from behind the counter, weaving between tables until she stood beside Prim's seat.
Prim blinked up at her, trying for nonchalant and landing somewhere closer to nervous.
Serin leaned down, one hand on the back of the chair. "You know," she said softly, "you could've just asked me for my number. Less caffeine, same result."
Prim flushed, a light laugh bubbling up. "That obvious?"
Serin tilted her head, pretending to consider it. "No. Just adorably awkward."
Then she reached into the pocket of her apron, pulled out a scrap of paper, and scribbled something across the back with a flourish. She slid it onto the table beside Prim's hand.
"My schedule's a mess," she murmured, starting to turn away. "But I make time for people who flirt badly."
Prim picked up the slip of paper. A number. A name.
Serin.
She stared at it like it was a spell she'd been waiting for.
"And Prim?" Serin called over her shoulder, not bothering to look back.
Prim straightened. "Yes?"
Serin flashed a grin as she slipped through the swinging door to the back. "Next time, you're buying."