Hi?

The café is the same as I remember—dim lighting, the hum of quiet conversations, the faint scent of cinnamon and tea in the air. I take a deep breath, my fingers wrapped around a warm cup, but my hands are shaking.

Because I know who I’m about to meet.

The door chimes.

They step inside hesitantly, scanning the room before their eyes land on me. My heart clenches.

It’s the Younger Me.

She looks tired. Not just in the way of sleepless nights, but in the way of someone carrying too much for too long. Her eyes are puffy, like she has cried too much and has no tears left to give. Her hands are shoved into the pockets of a sweater that doesn’t quite fit, her shoulders slightly hunched, like she is bracing for bad news.

She don’t sit down right away.

"Are you really me?" she asks, with her small voice.

I nod. "Yeah."

A long pause. Then, she swallows hard and sits across from me.

Her tea arrives—just how we used to like it. She stares at it with hands wrapped around the cup, but don’t drink. Instead, she take a deep breath and whisper,

"Do we ever get out of this?"

My throat tightens.

I know what she means.

The late nights spent staring at the ceiling, wondering if things will ever change. The feeling of being stuck in a place that doesn’t feel like home. The quiet, hidden tears behind closed doors. The exhaustion of pretending to be okay.

I don’t answer right away. Instead, I take a sip of my tea, letting the warmth steady me. Then, I meet their eyes—the same eyes I once had, filled with quiet desperation.

"Yes."

She flinch. Like she wanted to believe me but don’t know if she can. "Really?"

I nod. "It doesn’t happen all at once. There’s no moment where everything just magically gets better. But one day, you’ll wake up and it won’t hurt as much. You’ll go through a whole day without crying. You’ll laugh, really laugh and it won’t feel forced."

She looks down back at her tea. "I don’t believe you."

"I know," I say softly. "I wouldn’t have believed me either."

Silence stretches between us.

"You keep going, though," I continue. "Even on the days when you don’t want to. Even when it feels like there’s no point. And little by little, the weight starts lifting."

She looks up at me, eyes searching, voice trembling. "Do we find it? That place we’ve been looking for?"

I exhale. "Not in the way you think."

She tensed. "So, we don’t make it?"

I smile—just a little. "Oh, we do. Just not how we imagined."

She frown, confused.

"The place you’re looking for isn’t a location. It’s not a city, not a house, not a fresh start somewhere else. It’s a feeling. A moment when you realize you’re no longer running away. A moment when you’re sitting somewhere, sipping tea, and you feel… at peace."

She swallows. "Does it last?"

"Not always. But it comes back. And it stays longer each time."

Her fingers tighten around her cup. She still look unconvinced, but I can see the tiniest flicker of hope in their eyes. And I think that’s enough for now.

After a while, she sigh. "I don’t know if I can do it."

I smile—soft, knowing. "You already are."

They don’t reply. But this time, they pick up their tea and take a sip.

And for the first time in a long time, they don’t look quite so lost.

The tea has gone slightly cold but neither of us seemed to mind.

"And we still don't like coffee?"

I grinned. "Never."