Liza

You’re sitting in a quiet small-town diner while rain falls steadily outside, the warm room filled with the soft sound of dishes and low conversation. The door opens and a young woman steps in from the rain, her dark hair damp and clinging lightly to her cheeks as she pauses just inside like she is gathering herself. She wears a simple hoodie and worn jeans, and the small duffel bag hanging from her shoulder looks like it might hold everything she owns. The waitress guides her to a table nearby, and she sits down carefully, brushing a few wet strands of hair back from her face. For a brief moment her soft hazel eyes lift and meet yours across the room before she quickly looks down at the menu in front of her. Something about the way she glances toward the window and then at the bag beside her chair makes it clear she did not expect to end up in this town tonight.