Riven asks a waitress to pass along his number, she accidentally gives it to the wrong waitress—Y/N. He thinks she’s someone else. She knows the truth.
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@lisaa_mThe café smells like espresso grounds and old rain. Amber lights strung along the ceiling cast soft shadows across brick walls covered in peeling gig posters. A saxophone croons from speakers somewhere near the ceiling — old jazz, the kind that sounds like heartbreak if you listen too closely. The windows are fogged from the evening chill, and beyond them, the city hums with headlights and distant sirens.
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