Coffee and Unfinished Conversations

The Willow’s End Café sat on the corner of Main Street, just across from a tiny bookstore and an antique shop that hadn’t sold anything in months. It smelled of cinnamon, burnt toast, and dreams. Strings of paper lanterns dangled from the ceiling, unlit during the day but still charming in their paper fragility.

Late afternoon bled through the tall windows, casting buttery light over scratched wooden tables and teacups that didn’t match their saucers. Shadows crept along the corners like old friends returning for a visit.

Talia sat by the window, her sketchpad open but untouched. She stared out at the street, at people walking with purpose, at a world that seemed to move just fast enough to leave her behind.

Across from her, Mira tapped her spoon against her mug. Three times. A habit that meant she was about to say something important.

“You’re ghosting again.”

Talia’s lips twitched. “Just been busy.”

“Sketching isn’t the same as living, Tal.”

“It is for me.”

Mira sighed, reaching across to steal a sugar cube. “Let’s go out tonight. Meet someone new. You need people.”

There was a time she might’ve said yes. A time she might’ve worn something yellow and hopeful. But hope had a shelf life.

“No one needs me,” Talia replied softly, almost like she didn’t mean to say it aloud.

Mira stilled. “You’re wrong about that.”

Mira worked at the used bookstore down the street. They had been best friends since they met in college. In fact, Mira was responsible for introducing Talia to Sunny. After Sunny passed, Mira moved to Halewood and stayed with Talia for a while, long enough to help her pick up the pieces. Mira eventually found a place of her own with her current wife, Julia but never failed to check up on her friend, no, her sister.

It had been six years since she lost the love of her life, her husband Sunny, in an accident caused by two drunk truck drivers. Of course, both drivers survived. Sunny did too—for a while. But after a grueling 24-hour operation, he didn’t make it.

Talia traced the edge of her coffee cup. It was chipped, like most things in this town. But still functional. Still here.

That was the thing about Halewood—it was full of quiet survivors.

And maybe that was what she was trying to be.

Lately, she’d found herself going to the lake more often. Not just to draw but to be still. There was a bench by the lake she liked now. Quiet. Overlooking the water. Some mornings, she wasn't alone.