Dustin

The little café had become a part of our routine. Every evening after her shift as a psychiatric ward nurse, she would push open the familiar wooden door, greeted by the scent of freshly brewed coffee and the quiet hum of conversations. It was the only place where the weight of the hospital seemed to lift from her shoulder shoulders. And every evening, Dustin was already there, wearing the same face...confused and just following his body's routine He always seated by the window. Always with a magazine in his hands. Always looking up the moment he heard the bell above the door ring.