Caleb’s P.O.V

The diner was quiet that evening, the usual hum of conversation replaced by the soft clatter of dishes and the low murmur of a radio playing some old tune in the background. I stepped inside, my hands shoved into my jacket pockets, and scanned the nearly empty booths. The familiar scent of coffee and freshly grilled burgers filled the air, but it did nothing to settle the unease twisting in my gut. I wasn’t here for food. I was here for her.

Sliding into a booth ...