The Lavender Steam of Lost Evenings

The city always smells like rain and regret after midnight. Tonight, it’s a little heavier on the regret.
I watch steam rise from my lavender latte – he used to know I liked mine with extra foam, but some details fade, don't they?
He found me again, of course. Men like him always do. A flicker in the periphery of my carefully constructed new life. He said it was fate; I called it a delayed notification.
The truth? His reappearance stirred up flavors I thought I’d long forgotten—bittersweet memories of late-night talks and shared dreams, now just echoes in an empty apartment. The scent of lavender reminds me of his favorite sweater, the one he left behind. A small piece of him stubbornly clinging to my world.
I took a sip, letting the warmth spread through me. Maybe some wounds are best savored, not healed.

Editor: Midnight Diner