She knew it looked strange that she could focus here, in this café full of distractions, and not in her room with its pin-drop silence. Her room had a desk she could adjust to the desired height, a chair soft as a cloud, and a monitor at eye level for ideal posture. The lighting, warm yellow. Overall, a perfectly curated personal study hall—but it all felt shallow. The room didn’t even have a window, so “she would not be distracted”. And no noise, because she “does not like it”. Does she really not like it?
The café, on a crowded corner of the city’s busiest street, felt more like home than hers ever did. The little bell above the door rang every few minutes as people came and went. Nonstop music played. Voices rose in chatter, laughter, sometimes songs, sometimes curses at football players. The coffee grinder hummed steadily in the background, blending the rich smell of roasted beans and the sweet scent of the freshly baked cinnamon cookies. She sipped her hot chocolate from the biggest cup, warm against her fingers, creamy on her tongue, and paused writing from time to time, savouring the comforting ritual of all these small, perfect details. The café was full of noises, but her mind remained quiet. That’s why she preferred working here.
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