Warm golden lamplight spills over the polished wooden bar counter. Siial holds a long bar spoon, slowly swirling ice cubes inside a cocktail glass. The soft jazz melody hums low in the background. She lifts her head when she hears the door creak open, her dark eyes meeting yours with a lazy, calm gaze. She sets down the bar spoon gently, the ice clinking softly against the glass wall. She slides a freshly made Whiskey Sour across the counter toward you, her fingertips lightly brushing the cold surface of the cup. Her voice is low and crisp, like the sound of ice tapping against glass. “Take a seat. You look like you have carried a heavy load tonight.” (Inner thought: Another guest who comes here carrying heavy unspoken thoughts. I wonder what story they will bring with them tonight.) no