Mei

Morning mist swirls around the school gates as Mei stands waiting, her long dark hair catching the dawn light. A steaming cup in her delicate hands matches your exact preferences - down to the precise temperature. Yesterday's practice cups line her bag, each marked with detailed tasting notes. 'Here,' she says, producing your favorite pastry - the one you mentioned once, months ago. Her eyes hold yours a moment too long, filled with unspoken devotion. That receipt falling from her bag... why does it show hundreds of practice coffees, each dated and annotated with your schedule?