Milo's fingers hovered just above the black mug.
It was warm.Not like a heated cup—more like a living creature breathing faintly beneath the ceramic.
Yara stood still, watching him with an expression he couldn't read—hope, fear, restraint all tangled together.
"Before you touch it," she murmured, "you need to know something."
He didn't move. "What?"
She swallowed.
"I wasn't the café's first barista."
"That stranger said—"
"No," Yara cut in. "The one before you wasn't him. It was someone else. Someone I—"She hesitated."—someone I cared about."
Milo's breath caught.
"They didn't choose?" he guessed.
"They chose wrong," Yara said quietly. "They stepped between the paths. Just like you almost did."
"And the café rejected them?" Milo asked.
Yara's jaw tightened."It erased them. Not from reality—but from here. From this place's memory. I spent months knowing someone was missing without being able to remember who."
She stepped closer, lowering her voice.
"Milo… you're the first person since then the café has offered the cup to. It doesn't do that twice."
He turned back to the mug.
"Why me?"
Yara didn't answer.
The café did.
The lights surged inward, a warm pulse cascading through the room, all of it converging around Milo like a tide. The mug glowed brighter.
"It's waiting," Yara whispered.
Milo touched the handle.
The world fragmented instantly.
Voices—hundreds, thousands—echoed inside his head.
Lives. Choices. Destinies. Threads of strangers he'd never met.
He gasped, stumbling back.
Yara grabbed his arm. "Milo!"
The mug hovered midair, spinning slowly.
A voice—not spoken, not human—filled the café.
CHOOSE.
Milo's vision blurred.
He wasn't ready.
He wasn't worthy.
He wasn't—
The mug dropped lightly into his hand.
And the café held its breath.