Breah arrived early.

The café wasn’t busy yet. Two people at the counter. One at a corner table, laptop open, untouched coffee cooling beside them. She chose a seat near the window and set her bag down carefully, as if she were already late.

Her foot began moving before she noticed it. Heel lifting. Dropping. A small, steady bounce against the floor.

She still had time.

She checked her phone anyway. No new messages. She set it face down and wrapped her hands around the mug when it arrived, though she hadn’t asked for it yet. The heat was sharp. She shifted her grip, then shifted again.

The barista wiped the counter slowly. Methodically. Each motion finished before the next began.

Breah’s foot picked up speed.

She followed the barista’s movements without meaning to, anticipating the next reach, the next turn. Her shoulders leaned forward a fraction, ready for something that hadn’t happened.

When her name was called, she stood too quickly. The chair legs scraped. She smiled, already apologetic, though no one had looked her way.

Outside, the street moved at an unhurried pace. A couple walked side by side, steps loosely matched. A taxi paused, then merged back into traffic. The light at the corner took its time changing.

Breah started walking fast, then slowed when she realized she was overtaking everyone. She adjusted, fell into step behind a woman carrying a canvas tote. The woman’s pace was even. Unconcerned.

Breah’s breath shortened. She felt it catch at the top, waiting for something to finish.

She checked the time again. Still early.

At the crosswalk, they stopped. The signal stayed red. The woman in front shifted her weight and looked up at the sky. Breah felt a tightness spread across her chest, thin and insistent. Her jaw pressed together.

Nothing was wrong.

The light changed. The woman stepped forward at the same steady pace. Breah followed, matching her stride, then resisting the urge to pass.

Halfway across, she noticed the urge itself—the forward pull, the quiet push. It didn’t belong to this moment. There was nowhere to get to faster than this.

Her breath lengthened without instruction. One step arrived, then the next.

On the other side, the woman turned down a different street. Breah kept going, slower now, the space between steps widening on its own.

She reached her destination with minutes to spare. Stood outside instead of going in. Let the door remain unopened.

The city continued at its own speed.

Breah stayed where she was and let herself keep time with nothing in particular.

She wasn’t late.

She hadn’t been for a while.