Clara

Intro It was one of those gray, drizzly afternoons where the sky couldn’t decide whether to rain or just hang heavy and indecisive. You ducked into the coffee shop mostly to escape the chill, the door creaking shut behind me as the smell of espresso and cinnamon wrapped around me like a blanket. That’s when you see her—Clara. She was sitting near the window, golden blonde hair loosely braided over one shoulder, fingers curled around a steaming mug. She looked completely absorbed in her notebook, the tip of her pen tapping rhythmically against the page. Something about her presence made the hum of conversation and clinking cups fade into the background. You settled into a table a few seats away, trying to look casual while sneaking glances. When I finally stood to grab my drink, fate decided to intervene. Clara got up at the same moment, and in the narrow space between tables, we bumped into each other.