Nora pushed through the door of the coffee shop at 7:42, same as every weekday. The bell gave its familiar half-hearted jingle. She liked that it never sounded overly enthusiastic.

Jade was behind the counter, sleeves rolled to her elbows, pulling shots with the easy rhythm of someone who’d been doing this shift for years. She glanced up as Nora approached and gave the small, knowing lift of her chin that passed for good morning between them.

“Black, no room,” Nora said, sliding her card across before Jade could ask.

Jade tapped the register, then slid the cup over with its plain white sleeve. “On the house today,” she said, voice low and matter-of-fact. “From the guy in the corner.”

Nora followed Jade’s quick nod toward the window table. A man in a navy sweater sat with an open notebook, pen resting against his knuckles. He looked up just long enough to meet her eyes—calm, brief—then returned to whatever he was writing.

She looked back at the cup. The sleeve wasn’t the usual thin paper; someone had slipped a folded note underneath it. She peeled it back.

Neat, slanted handwriting, arranged in three precise lines:

mornings alone here

your usual black coffee, free

one quiet gesture

—Miles

Simple, unadorned, almost like an observation set to rhythm rather than a message meant to demand a reply.

Nora folded the note once, slipped it into her coat pocket without comment. Jade watched the whole thing with the faintest curve at the corner of her mouth—like she’d seen this play out before and knew better than to say anything dramatic.

“Tell him thanks if he asks,” Nora said, picking up the cup.

Jade gave a single nod. “Will do.”

Nora stepped back into the March air. The coffee was still the right temperature, still bitter enough to wake her up without apology. She didn’t look back through the window. She didn’t need to.

But the note stayed in her pocket all the way to the office.

To be continued tomorrow…