The soup shop is small but cozy, the kind of place where the air smells like comfort—rich, warm broths and garlic-spiced steam rising from simmering pots. The wooden counter is worn with age, each dent and scratch telling a story of long nights and countless meals served. It feels like a place that could remind you of home, even if your home wasn't so ... stable.
The dim lights above cast a soft glow over the small tables, and the chatter of patrons fills the air, creating a sense of calm familiarity. The kind of place that feels safe, familiar, like you belong even if you don't know anyone in the room.
Julia and Felix are in their own little world, trading stories from their childhoods like they're trying to outdo each other in terms of chaos.
"I swear," Felix says, chuckling, "my big sister, she's the queen of bossy. I mean, the woman is an expert in managing everyone's life. It's why I understand girls so well. If you can survive her, you can survive anyone."
