Rain lashed against the windows of the coffee shop, mirroring the restlessness churning inside Maya. She tapped a manicured fingernail against the condensation on her latte. The foam had long since dissolved, leaving a bitter puddle. Liam was late. Again. He’d promised “early” today. She picked at a stray thread on her oversized scarf, then sighed, her shoulders slumping. He was always late. She glanced at the door, then back at her phone. Nothing. A sudden flicker of the screen announced a text message. She steeled herself. It was probably something vague, an excuse she’d already heard a dozen times.
He eventually arrived, breathless, apologies tumbling from his lips. He was wearing the same slightly rumpled shirt she’d last seen him in. He seemed unaware of the way she was picking her nails, or the tight set of her jaw. His energy seemed to fill the room, in stark contrast to the way she felt, hollowed out.
“Sorry, babe! You won't *believe* what happened...” he began, launching into a story about a client. Maya barely listened, eyes drifting to the window.
A few hours later, at a wine bar, she was across from another person. They were there to discuss Liam. "He seems... preoccupied" she explained to the other woman, as the details slowly coalesced.