Once upon a time in the city of Echo where every sidewalk cracked with urgency, where sirens blended into pop songs and stock alerts lived Clara. She brewed coffee. Nothing fancy, just dark roast, no sugar. Yet her shop sat right where the tallest tower cast the longest shadow, and every morning at seven sharp, she’d unlock, flick the lights, hum.

People came. They barked orders like battlefield commands. “Triple, two pumps, almond, no foam!” They’d tap-tap-tap on phones while she steamed milk. No eye contact. No thanks. Society, she thought, had trained itself into mute bullets firing opinions without aim.

Then came Marcus. Beard unkempt, eyes wild. “Crypto’s gonna moon!” he roared at absolutely no one. Clara leaned over. “Sir, last time you said that, you lost three grand overnight.” He froze. Not anger surprise. Someone listened. Actually listened. “Huh… yeah.” He sipped slower. Left a tip.

Next, Lila. Single mom, two kids clinging her coat. “Sorry, I shouldn’t be here.” Clara poured. Didn’t charge. “Raising humans is tough. This one’s on me.” Lila’s lip trembled. “You… thank you.” She cried. Not loud quiet tears that nobody else noticed. But Clara did.

Week one: same folks showed up. Same rants, but softer. Week two: Marcus brought a friend. They argued less, asked Clara’s take. She gave none just questions. “What do you want, really?” Phones flipped face-down. Lila started bringing kids; they’d draw on nap