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... They always smell like melted cheese and poor life choices. The tables are never clean. And if you’re lucky, maybe half the food won’t try to kill you. I don’t usually eat here — I smuggle snacks into the library like a criminal.
But after this morning? Yeah. I needed carbs. And distance.
Except I got neither.
Because she followed me.
Again.
She didn’t say anything at first. Just walked behind me. No tray. No food. Just her high heels click-clacking acros ...
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