The café felt smaller that morning. Not physically—its walls were still the same brick-and-wood warmth Celine had chosen months ago—but the air pressed tighter, as if the place had shrunk under invisible hands. Celine moved with practiced rhythm, setting pastries behind the glass, checking the espresso machine’s hiss and hum. Customers filtered in, chatting lightly about traffic and the weather. Still, every word seemed too distant, like voices traveling from the other side of a thick ...