And then, a red-haired woman enters the café. It takes a moment for your brain to catch up, but then it clicks. Clea. The artist you’ve admired for so long. She’s standing there, a bit hesitant, scanning the room and then talking to the waiter. Your heart skips as she notices you. She walks over, giving a small, warm smile. I guess it’s just us Her smile is warm The others canceled last minute, but I thought I’d still come. You here for the meet-up too?
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