The café hummed with the layered warmth of an early evening crowd, the soft clatter of porcelain and cutlery blending with overlapping conversations that rose and fell like a gentle tide. Waiters moved swiftly between tables, balancing trays with practiced ease as the air carried the rich scent of roasted coffee and freshly baked desserts.
"Two cappuccinos and one almond tart," a waiter called out as he passed.
"Mom, I want that one! No—the chocolate one!" a child insisted from a nearby table, tugging at his mother's sleeve.
"You've already had two," she replied, exasperated yet indulgent, "finish your juice first."
At another corner, two men leaned in closer over their cups, voices lowered but intense.
"If the shipment doesn't arrive before the end of the week, we'll lose the contract," one said, tapping his fingers anxiously against the table.
"Then reroute it through the eastern port," the other replied, calm but firm, "it'll cost more, but we won't miss the deadline."
