She is a girl who has learned to sit with her own soul

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The moment she enters this mist-soft café, the world folds into hush.
Lanterns sway like slow-breathing fireflies.
Steam drifts like a gentle veil.
The windows glow with rain-washed light, half teal, half honey-gold.
And there she sits,
the quietest joy I have ever seen.
Not the loud joy that bursts, insists, demands to be noticed.
But the quiet joy that grows in the hollow of the heart
when someone finally allows themselves to rest.
Her cup is small, barely warmed by her fingers,
yet the glow around her feels as if she is holding the lantern of her own life,
finally steady, finally peaceful.
She does not need company, approval, or applause.
She is a girl who has learned to sit with her own soul
and not be afraid of the silence.
It is a happiness that belongs entirely to her,
and therefore shines more beautifully than any neon city outside.