A Cup of Solstice

The snow fell gently outside, painting the town in a blanket of serene white. The café, nestled on the corner of an old cobblestone street, was dimly lit and cozy. Inside, she sat alone at her usual spot by the frosted window, cupping a steaming cup of coffee in her skeletal hands. Her name was Luna, a soul who danced on the border between the living and the departed.

The café owner didn’t mind her peculiar presence after all, she always tipped generously and never caused trouble. Her ripped jeans, black t-shirt, and intricate jewelry gave her an air of gothic elegance. Her face was painted in delicate skull like makeup, though some suspected it wasn’t makeup at all.

On this winter solstice, Luna wasn’t here just for the coffee. She was waiting. Every year on this day, when the veil between worlds thinned, she returned to this place a spot that once meant everything to her.

The small table still has faint carvings from years ago, a heart and initials she traced absentmindedly. Memories flooded back of warm summers and laughter with someone whose face was now a blur. He had loved tea and she had loved coffee. Their rituals had outlasted everything, even time itself.

The bell above the café door jingled, and the cold wind swept in. Luna looked up, her empty eyes filled with hope. A figure emerged, cloaked in shadows, but unmistakable. He smiled, the same grin she had never forgotten.

“Sorry I’m late,” he said, his voice like the echo of a melody.

Luna smiled, and for the first time in years, her heart felt full. They sat together, sipping their drinks, while the snow outside seemed to pause in reverence. For one evening, the past and present collided, and love defied the boundaries of existence.

When the dawn came, the café chair was empty again. But the memory of their reunion lingered, etched into the winter air like a whisper, a promise that some bonds are never truly broken.