Elena doesn't try to become my best friend again.
I notice this because it's the opposite of what I expected. After weeks of showing up, after the apologies and the gifts and the tearful confessions, after Kevin's forty-three-page document validating her genuine change—I thought she'd start pushing. Asking for more time, more attention, more access to the life she used to share with me. That's what Alexander would have done. That's what anyone desperate for redemption might do.
Elena doesn't.
She keeps coming to Marlene's Corner every morning at seven, but she doesn't linger at my table unless invited. She orders her black coffee and plain croissant, and sometimes she reads a book or writes in a small notebook. She doesn't stare at me or try to catch my eye. She just... exists. In proximity. Letting herself be seen without demanding to be acknowledged.
