Rain lashes against the window of a small, cluttered cafe. He sits hunched over a lukewarm cup of coffee, the steam doing little to warm his chilled hands. Across the table, her chair is empty. A single, wilting rose lies on the checkered tablecloth where she’d been sitting just moments ago. He keeps glancing at the door, a desperate hope flickering in his eyes, but the cafe remains stubbornly, achingly empty. The rhythmic drumming of the rain seems to mock his stillness, each drop a tiny echo of the silence where her laughter used to be. He traces patterns on the condensation of his cup, a lost, vacant expression on his face, the weight of unspoken words heavy in the air.