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MAYBE I CAN MOVE ON
The coffee shop was a small, rustic place; the huge wooden tables and hum of an espresso machine in the background set the atmosphere. Soft chatter from other clients created warmness in the space. Yet, even in this cozy setting, tension sat between Noah and me, an almost invisible barrier that seemed to electrify the air. I took a deep breath, trying to steady my nerves as I sat down across from him. In his eyes was some strange intensity that unnerved me—so unlike his usual confidence, his calculation. "Noah," I began, my voice steady but cool, "what is it you want to talk about?" He leaned back in his chair, his fingers lightly drumming on the table. "We need to discuss Seth." Hearing Seth's name on his lips was a kind of violation in and of itself, reminding me of the hugely complic
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