When Green Meets Grey

The café wasn’t anything special. Small, a little cramped, with secondhand furniture that had probably been donated by someone’s grandmother. The kind of place that tried too hard to look quirky, with mismatched mugs and chalkboard menus written in loopy handwriting. It smelled faintly of burnt espresso and cinnamon, the kind of combination that could be cozy if you weren’t already predisposed to roll your eyes at such things.

You didn’t come here for the atmosphere. You came because it was quiet enough to work and cheap enough not to matter. A corner table, headphones, and a bitter cup of coffee—that was all you needed.

Except today, someone was humming.

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