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The routine, once a source of comfort, transformed into a relentless torment. One morning, her familiar face was absent from behind the counter. Then another morning. And another. The café, once a haven of warmth, now felt colder, emptier, its lively atmosphere unable to penetrate the sudden dread that gripped my heart. The absence of her kind smile, her gentle greeting, her patient ear, left a gaping void that no amount of coffee could fill. My carefully constructed world, built on the fragile foundation of these daily interactions, crumbled around me. The thought that she might simply have moved on, that this precious connection could vanish as suddenly as it appeared, was unbearable. My mind raced, conjuring endless, unsettling scenarios. Had something terrible happened? Was she okay? The anxiety was crippling, far more intense than I would have ever imagined for someone I only knew from a café. The fear of losing this sole flicker of light in my solitary existence became an unbearable weight. I knew I couldn’t just sit back and do nothing. The need to understand, to ensure her well-being, to reconnect with the person who had unknowingly become so vital to my emotional survival, became an overwhelming imperative. Driven by a desperate hope and an inexplicable sense of parental concern, I embarked on a journey that would take me far beyond the familiar confines of the café, into the unknown depths of a life I knew nothing about. My heart pounded with a mix of apprehension and determination as I made a decision that would either bring relief or shatter my fragile peace entirely, leaving me to face the emptiness once more.
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