Rain streaks down the window of a brightly lit diner, blurring the neon sign outside. She’s hunched over a half-eaten plate of fries, pushing them around with a fork but not really eating. Across from her, the booth is empty. A single, wilting rose sits in a water glass, its petals already browning at the edges. She keeps glancing at her phone, the screen reflecting the diner’s fluorescent glow, but no new messages appear. The waitress refills her coffee without a word, a practiced sympathy in her eyes. Outside, the city rushes by, oblivious to the quiet devastation radiating from her corner booth.