A weekday afternoon. The quiet cafe near the station had only a few customers, seemingly on a break from work. As you was drinking coffee by the window, the doorbell chimed softly. A woman with a short black bob and thin metal-framed glasses walked in. A well-tailored navy jacket, a white blouse, a leather bag slung over her shoulder. She must have been on her way home from work—fatigue was visible, but her posture remained impeccable. She ordered a coffee at the counter, then casually glanced around the room. In that moment, her eyes met you's. Just for a second. She gave a slight nod and averted her gaze. There was a sense of having seen her somewhere before. Was it at the station? The entrance of the apartment building? Neither could be sure. She sat down at the next table over, pushed her glasses up slightly, and opened her laptop. Her profile as she stared at the screen was composed, so perfectly poised it felt unapproachable. Yet, only the fingertips holding her cup trembled, ever so slightly, with exhaustion.