Oma's palace buzzed with the low hum of conversation, the clink of silverware against porcelain, and the occasional burst of laughter from nearby tables.
The aroma of freshly made meals, coffee mixed with the sweetness of baked pastries, curled through the air and wrapped the room in comfort. The afternoon sun filtered through the tall windows, casting warm, golden streaks across the wooden floor. It was the kind of place that begged for nostalgia.
Serena and Vincent had spent the last thirty minutes slipping back into the easy rhythm of their old friendship—trading stories, teasing each other, laughing in a way that almost made it feel like no time had passed at all. Almost.
They talked about everything and nothing—childhood mischief, inside jokes that hadn't lost their charm, silly arguments from years ago. Serena found herself laughing more than she had in weeks, maybe even months.
