Lena nodded. She didn’t say “I know.” She didn’t say “It doesn’t get better.”
The rain didn’t bother Lena anymore. It just made the city sound like it was thinking.
The girl looked at the cup, then at Lena. She wiped her face with her sleeve—hard, like she was angry at her own tears. candid-v3
“He said he’d meet me here,” the girl whispered. “An hour ago.”
She checked her phone. No messages. Three hours ago, she’d sent: “Can we talk? I’m at the usual spot.” Lena nodded
“No,” she said. “But you get better at carrying it.”
No reply.
The Last Table by the Window