Indigo Reflections

The rain tasted of asphalt and distant sirens.
I watched it gather on the windowpane, mirroring the shapes of the city beyond – a blurred tapestry of neon and shadow.
He wasn’t here, of course. Not in the way that demands attention. He simply… was. A warmth lingered beneath my fingertips as I traced the outline of a forgotten coffee stain on the table.
It had been weeks since we last spoke, and each passing hour felt like an unhurried descent into stillness.
There’s no need to chase after things that drift, you see. Like smoke in the wind.
The cafe hummed with a quiet industry – the clink of cups, murmured conversations – yet I found myself utterly alone, enveloped in a comfortable solitude.
I felt… peaceful. Not because anything had changed, but because everything *hadn’t*.
Perhaps letting him simply be was the most tender act of all. A small space reserved just for the memory of his presence, undisturbed and glowing faintly like a single indigo reflection.

Editor: The Tea Room