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Hard work had kept her alive.
But it wouldn't be enough to save her forever.
That thought stayed with Kiara as she unlocked the shop the next morning. The air was cool, the street unusually calm, and for a brief moment, everything felt suspended—like the world was holding its breath.
She brewed the first pot of coffee slowly, deliberately, as though rushing might shatter the fragile quiet.
By ten o'clock, a man in a plain suit stepped into Torres Brew, carrying a slim leather folder tucked under his arm. He looked official. Not threatening. Just… final.
"Kiara Torres?" he asked politely.
"Yes," she replied, wiping her hands on her apron.
"I'm from the property management office," he said, placing the folder on the counter. "We need your signature to acknowledge receipt."
Her chest tightened.
Inside the folder were papers she had been expecting—and dreading. Rent statements. Payment deadlines. Terms written in ink that did not bend for circumstance or grief.
"You have seven days," the man said gently. "After that, we proceed."
Seven days.
She signed, her hand steady despite the weight pressing against her ribs.
After he left, Kiara sat alone behind the counter, the folder open in front of her. She traced the dates with her finger, reading them again and again, as though repetition might soften their meaning.
Seven days to save the shop.
Seven days to decide her future.
She closed the folder carefully and slid it into her bag.
Later that afternoon, the education brochure peeked out from between receipts and old notebooks. On the cover, bold letters announced application deadlines—dates that felt just as final.
University enrollment closed in three weeks.
Three weeks.
Kiara leaned back in her chair, staring at the ceiling.
One door closing.
Another opening.
And her standing in the middle, unsure where she belonged.
The bell above the door rang softly.
She didn't look up at first. She didn't need to.
She felt him.
Shane stood quietly at the counter, not intruding, not speaking. Just there.
"You didn't come in yesterday," she said eventually.
"I didn't want to disrupt you," he replied.
She nodded. "Thank you."
He noticed the folder at her feet. The brochure beside the register. He didn't ask about either.
That was what made it harder.
"I have deadlines now," Kiara said softly, more to the room than to him.
"I know," Shane replied.
She finally looked at him. "How?"
He hesitated. "Because important things always come with dates attached."
A small, tired smile tugged at her lips.
They stood there, separated by the counter, by choices, by unspoken feelings neither of them dared name.
"I'm scared," she admitted quietly.
Shane's expression softened. "You're allowed to be."
"I don't know if I can do both," she continued. "Save the shop. Go to school. Be… more."
"You don't have to decide everything today," he said.
She looked at him then—really looked—and realized how close they were. Close enough to hear his breathing. Close enough to feel steady where she felt unanchored.
And yet, they didn't touch.
That distance mattered.
"I won't cross any line you don't want crossed," Shane said gently. "Not with the shop. Not with your future."
She believed him.
And that scared her more than anything else.
As evening fell, Shane prepared to leave.
"Seven days," Kiara said as he reached the door.
He turned back. "Seven days," he echoed.
The bell rang softly as he left.
Kiara stood alone once more, deadlines tucked in her bag, possibilities heavy in her heart.
She wasn't falling.
Not yet.
But she was standing close enough to the edge to feel the pull.
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