Mira had always believed some places remembered people.The cafe on the corner of Ashwood Street was one of them.She didn’t know why her chest tightened every time she pushed open its wooden door, why the bell above it chimed like a warning instead of a welcome. The smell of coffee and old books wrapped around her, familiar in a way that didn’t make sense. As if she had been here before. As if she had lived an entire life between these tables and forgotten it.She chose the window seat. She always did.Outside, the city moved on cars passing, people laughing,