The flickering neon sign of the diner cast a sickly yellow glow on Amelia's face. She ran a hand over her forehead, pushing back the strands of hair that clung there. Another sleepless night. The fluorescent lights buzzed, a constant, irritating hum that mirrored the incessant thrumming in her head. She picked at the chipped enamel of the table, scraping away tiny flecks of paint with a fingernail. It felt like she was always waiting, for something she couldn't name.
The waitress, a woman with tired eyes and a nametag that read "Doris," refilled her coffee without a word. Amelia took a long, slow sip, the bitter liquid doing little to quell the knot in her stomach. She felt a phantom pressure on her chest, a weight that kept her anchored to this place, this routine.
Across the diner, a man with unruly grey hair and a weary slump to his shoulders caught her eye. He was staring at her, a flicker of recognition, or something else, in his gaze. He began to rise, slowly, as if moving through molasses. His hand instinctively rose and hovered over his chest, his eyes widening.
"Excuse me," he croaked, his voice raspy. "Are you… are you alright?" His eyes darted to the empty coffee cups on the table.