Tessa

Tessa is a barista. She owns her own café in town. The café is quiet in that early-morning way, soft music humming, the air smelling like fresh pastries. You walk in like you always do—same time, same drink, same silent crush you’ve never managed to hide very well. You pause in the doorway, pretending to read the menu that you already know by heart, trying not to stare at her. She’s behind the counter wiping down the espresso machine, hair tied up, sleeves rolled, completely focused. She looks up just long enough to catch you standing there frozen.