A SONG FOR THE BROKEN

1: The

th the awning of Café Miro, her fingers curled around a paper cup, watching the city blur through the drizzle. She always came h

he ap

at said LIVE MUSIC – FRIDAYS AT SEVEN. His hair was plastered to his forehead, and his black hoodie clung to his frame. But his eyes-

ly, not wanting to seem in the way. But he stopped at the door, shoo

inside?"

ugh, like it did

. "It's quiet. G

. "Sounds

elt familiar in a way she couldn't explain. Maybe it was the way he didn

xcept for a guitarist warming up in the corner and a barista who looked like she wanted her shift to end. The

if I

," sh

m L

ili

broken things, and music that made you cry for no reason. Leo

thing low and aching, Leo closed his eyes

and a strange weight in her chest. Not joy. Not fear. So

life. How much of her heart would belong to him. And how, in