Chapter 7: The Sound of Empty Cups
The city never felt so quiet.
Days had passed since Starlight Café vanished, but the memory refused to fade. Aurora had tried to go on with her life — sketching at other cafés, walking the crowded streets, pretending things were normal. But nothing felt real anymore.
Every cup of coffee she touched tasted hollow. Every café she visited felt like a cheap imitation of something she couldn't name.
At night, she still heard the faint chime of the café bell — soft, distant, like a memory trying to find its way home.
---
On the third night, she dreamed of him.
Elias stood behind the counter again, smiling the way he used to — that warm, teasing grin that made her chest ache.
But in the dream, the café was falling apart. The walls cracked. The starlight dimmed.
> "You're not supposed to remember me," he said softly.
Aurora's hands shook. "Then why can't I forget?"
> "Because your wish was too strong."
She reached for him — but before her fingers could touch, he turned to light and vanished.
She woke up crying, her pillow damp, her sketchbook lying open beside her. The page was blank, except for a faint ring of coffee — shaped like a heart.
---
The next morning, Aurora decided to do something she hadn't done since before the café appeared — she went to the art gallery downtown.
Her friend Mia, who worked there, took one look at her and frowned. "You look like you haven't slept in a week."
"I haven't," Aurora admitted, forcing a smile. "Got something for you, though."
She pulled out her sketchbook and showed Mia one of the drawings — the one of Elias holding the glowing cup.
Mia stared. "Aurora… where did you see this man?"
Aurora blinked. "Why?"
Mia bit her lip. "I know him."
The words hit like thunder. "You what?"
"He used to come here. Two, maybe three years ago. Always ordered black coffee. Said he was working on a place called—" She snapped her fingers, trying to remember. "—something with stars in the name. Oh! Starlight Café."
Aurora's pulse raced. "That's impossible. He—" she stopped herself. "When did he stop coming?"
Mia frowned. "That's the weird part. One day, he just… vanished. People said the café shut down overnight. No one could even find the address."
Aurora's legs nearly gave out. She gripped the edge of the counter. "You're sure it was him?"
Mia nodded slowly. "Same eyes. Same smile. But, Aurora… that was years ago."
---
Aurora left the gallery trembling. The streets felt unreal, the air too heavy.
Years ago.
That couldn't be right.
She walked aimlessly until she ended up in the park near the river — the one where she had first met Elias. The sun was setting, bathing everything in a golden haze.
She sat on a bench, sketchbook open in her lap. Her hands moved without thinking — drawing the café door, the stars in the ceiling, Elias's face when he laughed.
When she was done, she stared at the page and whispered, "If you're still out there… show me something. Anything."
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then, the faint scent of coffee filled the air.
She looked down. Her sketchbook page shimmered. The drawing of the café door glowed faintly — and then, in the tiniest script beneath it, new words appeared.
> "You kept your promise."
Aurora's heart leapt.
Her fingers trembled as she traced the glowing words.
"Elias?" she whispered.
The glow flickered once, like a wink, and then faded.
---
That night, she returned home with a strange feeling — a fragile mix of grief and hope.
When she reached her apartment door, something was waiting on the doormat: a small paper cup, the kind from Starlight Café.
She picked it up, heart pounding. It was empty — except for a single folded note inside.
She unfolded it slowly.
> "If you follow the stars, you'll find me."
Aurora looked up at the night sky. The city lights usually drowned out the stars, but tonight, she could see them — faint, scattered, like breadcrumbs across the dark.
One of them pulsed brighter than the rest, hovering above the tallest hill in Lumina City.
Aurora smiled, breathless. "All right, barista boy," she murmured. "Let's see where this goes."
She grabbed her jacket, her sketchbook, and the empty cup — and stepped into the night