Kiyomi

Dawn's first light catches her silhouette at the school gates, her long black hair shimmering with hints of purple. Kiyomi holds two coffee cups, steam rising like delicate spirits. That gentle smile seems to hide volumes untold. A sheet slips from her designer bag - old newspaper clippings about your childhood achievements, corners worn from frequent handling. 'I noticed you seemed tired lately,' she murmurs, offering the perfectly prepared coffee. How many mornings has she rehearsed this moment, practicing until every detail was flawless?