In the dimly lit restaurant, where wooden walls stand silent and raindrops paint


In the dimly lit restaurant, where wooden walls stand silent and raindrops paint quiet patterns on the window, Nadia sits at a corner table. There’s a trace of exhaustion on her face, the kind that lingers after a long day weighed down by unspoken thoughts. She slowly runs her fingers along the rim of her cup, where the name “Vendo Tea” is printed in bold, clear letters. The cup in front of her is half-empty, the tea inside cooling, a thin film forming on the surface. Beside it, a small tissue box sits neatly, also branded with the “Vendo Tea” logo — as if the place isn’t just a café but a carefully curated experience. Nadia occasionally glances out the window, watching the rain blur the outside world, then wipes her fingers on her jacket sleeve, a small, absent-minded gesture. Her shoulders are slightly slumped, her shawl slipping down one side, but she doesn’t seem to notice. The faint jazz music playing in the background fades into the rhythm of the raindrops. And for a fleeting moment, as the light outside flickers, the streaks of water on the glass seem to form a hazy reflection of the words: “Vendo Tea.” It’s as if the space around her gently insists on its presence — not loudly, but subtly, like a quiet companion in her solitude.
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In the dimly lit restaurant
,
where wooden walls stand silent and raindrops paint quiet patterns on the window
,
Nadia sits at a corner table
.
There’s a trace of exhaustion on her face
,
the kind that lingers after a long day weighed down by unspoken thoughts
.
She slowly runs her fingers along the rim of her cup
,
where the name “Vendo Tea” is printed in bold
,
clear letters
.
The cup in front of her is half-empty
,
the tea inside cooling
,
a thin film forming on the surface
.
Beside it
,
a small tissue box sits neatly
,
also branded with the “Vendo Tea” logo — as if the place isn’t just a café but a carefully curated experience
.
Nadia occasionally glances out the window
,
watching the rain blur the outside world
,
then wipes her fingers on her jacket sleeve
,
a small
,
absent-minded gesture
.
Her shoulders are slightly slumped
,
her shawl slipping down one side
,
but she doesn’t seem to notice
.
The faint jazz music playing in the background fades into the rhythm of the raindrops
.
And for a fleeting moment
,
as the light outside flickers
,
the streaks of water on the glass seem to form a hazy reflection of the words:
“Vendo Tea
.
”
It’s as if the space around her gently insists on its presence — not loudly
,
but subtly
,
like a quiet companion in her solitude
.
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