Pourquoi le monde est injuste

Previously

…“Perhaps,” he said, his voice barely a whisper, “we’ll have more to talk about next time.” Then, he was gone, the bell above the door chiming a final, melancholic farewell, leaving Elara alone with the scent of coffee, the drumming of rain, and the unsettling imprint of an artist’s presence on her quiet world. The silence that settled in the café felt heavier now, charged with the memory of his words, the lingering question of unspoken attraction, and the growing awareness that her carefully constructed solitude had been irrevocably disrupted.