The afternoon sun was gentle, the kind that brushed against my skin like a whisper—too soft to hurt but too present to ignore. The air smelled faintly of roasted coffee and wet earth after the morning drizzle—a scent that felt almost nostalgic, like something from another lifetime.

I sat by the window of the quiet café, my fingers tracing the rim of my mug absentmindedly. My message to Serena had been simple, almost disarmingly so: “Let’s talk. Not as enemies, but as sisters.” I ...