Resterry

One night, weeks later, I was sitting in a nearly empty café near my building. The rain had started again, tapping softly against the glass, and I was watching the reflection of the streetlights ripple in the puddles outside. I had my laptop with me, and almost without thinking, I opened vavada. There was something comforting about it by then, like visiting a familiar place where you still don’t know exactly what will happen, and that uncertainty is part of the appeal. The hours passed easily. I watched as the world outside the window slowed down—fewer cars, quieter streets—and inside, I was making choices, reacting, leaning forward in my chair with a focus that made me forget where I was. When I finally closed the laptop, it was after midnight. I walked home through the wet streets, breathing in the cold air, and felt lighter than I had in a long time.