Aria
The sun had dipped low, casting golden streaks across the busy streets. People bustled past—some heading home, others off to somewhere that wasn't work. I walked against the tide, making my way toward the diner, our second-favorite place to meet during the week.
Sarah and I had been coming here since college, back when I was broke and surviving on nothing but instant noodles and my hopes for a better life. She was the one buying most of our meals.
She never made me feel bad about it, never acted like it was charity. But sometimes, the difference between us was too clear, and I couldn't shake the feeling that I was dragging her down. She never complained, though, and I never resented her for having what I didn't.
She was the rainbow in my storm-filled life, and I loved her for that.
The bell above the door chimed as I stepped inside. The air smelled of coffee, grilled food, and something else—something heavier, sitting low in my chest. I couldn't put my finger on it.
