Page 13 of Isaia

I sling my worn leather bag over my shoulder, grab my inhaler, and shove it inside.

I inch closer, staring at the reflection of my mismatched eyes.

As if having asthma isn’t bad enough, I was also gifted with one hazel and one green eye. It’s like the gods decided to experiment with me, unleashing their creative whims just for fun. A mix-and-match of color, a reminder that even when you think you’ve seen it all, life throws you something strange, something that stands out.

Heterochromia iridis.Complete Heterochromia.

It only affects like one percent of the population, and I’m one of the lucky ones. Or not.

I used to hate it, but now? It’s what makes me who I am.

Isaia’s reaction to them yesterday was priceless. He froze, like he wasn’t sure whether to be curious or cautious. I’ve learned to embrace it, though—I stand out, and I’m okay with that.

At the front door, I crouch and fluff Luna's ears. “I don’t know how he can call you a menace. You’re so damn cute.” I lean down, kissing her head. “Try not to wreck the place while I'm gone.”

She lets out a dramatic sigh, like it's the most challenging request in the world, and I can’t help but snicker as I close the door behind me.

She’s totally going to wreck the place.

The morning air is cool, with just enough warmth to hint at the day ahead.

As I walk down the street, the light fabric of my dress moves with the breeze, and I feel the sway of my scarf around my neck. There’s a certain freedom in it—like the day holds a promise of something different, something good.

I reach the corner coffee shop, and Ember & Bean's doorbell jingles softly as I step inside. The warm scent of freshly roasted coffee beans mingles with the subtle hint of smoky wood, a nod to its name.

I weave through an eclectic mix of furniture—plush armchairs in shades of burnt orange and forest green, and mismatched vintage chairs circling dark wooden tables.

In the corner, an old bookshelf leans slightly, stuffed with worn paperbacks and hardcovers, some of them clearly touched by time.

Overhead, industrial-style pendant lamps hang low, casting soft pools of light that create quiet, intimate corners, perfect for vanishing into a book or losing yourself in conversation.

It's a little slice of peace amid the city's chaos, a place that feels like it’s just a beat behind the rest of the world.

“Your boho ass is late,” Molly chimes from behind the counter, one brow arched.

“Again, it’s my day off.”

“Don’t care. You’re still late.” She winks and smiles.

Her light blonde hair is piled into a messy knot, strands falling loose, framing her face in a way that gives off a kind of effortless charm. There’s always a bit of sarcasm lurking in her eyes, her whole demeanor casual, like she’s perpetually two steps ahead of whatever’s coming.

“I know, I know,” I return with a lazy wave, sliding onto one of the stools, and rest my chin on my palm. “You've got to stop needing me so much.”

“This place goes from semi-interesting to completely dead without you around to stir shit up.”

I snort, flipping a stray strand of hair over my shoulder. “Flattery, huh? What, did the regulars not give you a hard enough time this morning?”

“Please,” she says, sliding the steaming cappuccino in front of me. “Edith just tried to tell me about her cat’s diet…again. And don’t even get me started on Rodger and his theories about aliens running the government.”

I laugh, shaking my head. “He still on that?”

“Oh, he’s upgraded. Now the aliens are using coffee to control our minds. So you better be careful.”

“Thanks for the heads-up. Guess I’ll have to ease off the caffeine.”

Molly leans in, resting her elbows on the counter. “You say that every week, and yet…”

“And yet, here I am,” I finish for her, lifting my cup in a mock toast before taking a sip.

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