The cup was empty.But it felt heavier than any mug had a right to be.
Milo stared down at the porcelain vessel the barista had just placed before him. It shimmered faintly under the dream-sky lights, etched with living constellations that shifted whenever he blinked. Right now they spelled out the word:
"Y O U R E M O T I O N S A R E N ' T M Y P R O B L E M ."
Charming.
Behind the counter, the barista—tall, still, and radiating the energy of someone who judged your aura the second you ordered a caramel macchiato—folded her arms. Her name tag read: "PropheCafé." Probably not her real name. Maybe not anyone's.
"You want to understand her?" she asked, voice like velvet dipped in regret. "Then you have to drink the truth. But truth isn't served. It's brewed."
"I mean, you could just tell me," Milo muttered. "Like, with words."
She tapped the cup once. It made a sound like a heartbeat. Symbols blinked across the rim.
INGREDIENTS REQUIRED:– Essence of What-If– Bittersweet Syrup– Froth of Forgotten Apologies
[i.d.e.a.l.] chimed in over his shoulder, sounding far too smug.
"New quest acquired: Brew of Absolute Honesty™. Side effects may include regret, vulnerability, and inconvenient emotional growth. Proceed?"
Milo groaned.
"I miss the talking mushroom. At least he offered coupons."
The first café shimmered like a mirage: What-If Espresso, where every cup poured a path you didn't take.
The door creaked open on a scene of silent movie reels looping behind every customer. A girl watched herself say "yes" to a first date she'd dodged. A man stared at a version of himself holding a child he never had. Some people were crying. Some were laughing. Some just stared.
The barista handed Milo a demitasse. No words. Just a nod.
The espresso tasted like nostalgia and citrus.
And suddenly, Milo was seventeen again.
Standing on a makeshift stage, accepting the student council presidency he never ran for. Applause surrounded him. Confidence swelled in his chest. His crush smiled from the front row, her eyes bright with admiration.
He felt... liked.
He felt like he mattered.
And then the world shattered like glass, and he was back in the café, blinking through the sting of tears.
It hadn't been a sad vision.
That's what made it hurt more.
[i.d.e.a.l.]:
"Essence of What-If acquired. Emotional sting: satisfactory."
Milo wiped his nose. "I hate this coffee shop."
Constella's Soliloquy floated high above the dream street, its entrance a ladder made of sighs.
Inside, Milo found a constellation. Or rather, a small drift of disassembled stars, glowing faintly around a flickering chandelier.
They whispered in unison, a poem stretching across their broken light:
"We once spelled her name above her bed.A sky written just for her.But when she stopped wishing,We fell."
Milo didn't speak. He just listened.
The stars flickered, dimmed… and then one wept.
A single tear of starlight fell into his cup, golden and slow as honey.
[i.d.e.a.l.]:
"Bittersweet Syrup acquired. Depression levels stable."
Decaf Denial smelled like things left unsaid.
Milo sat across from a girl with tired eyes and a cup full of silence.
"I ghosted everyone," she said softly. "Before they could ghost me. That way, it hurt less."
Milo didn't give her advice.
He didn't offer a solution.
He just said, "I forgive you."
The silence in her cup shifted. Froth bloomed — soft, pearly, glowing.
She looked up, stunned. And for the first time since he'd walked in, she smiled.
[i.d.e.a.l.]:
"Ingredient complete. Unexpected act of compassion logged. Recalculating… morality profile."
Back at the main café, the barista took the ingredients wordlessly.
Her fingers traced a symbol in the steam — a spiral inside a cracked heart. She stirred once with a silver spoon shaped like a question mark and slid the mug toward him.
"Drink slowly," she said. "Some truths scald."
Milo raised the cup. The foam shimmered with impossible colors.
Then he drank.
The world unraveled.
The coffee shops, the barista, the jazz-cat on the rooftop — gone.
Milo stood in a dim, trembling classroom, walls flickering with static. Dust drifted in slow motion.
The desks were all empty.
Except one.
A girl sat at its center, her long black hair falling like curtains around her face. She was drawing something in a notebook, over and over. A heart. Crossed out. Redrawn. Crossed out again.
Milo tried to move.
She spoke before he could.
"It's better to be invisible," she whispered."Than to be seen... and hated."
Milo stepped forward—
—and the world shattered.
The classroom peeled away into noise. Desks flew apart like birds. Her silhouette dissolved into static and stars.
Darkness.
[i.d.e.a.l.]'s voice returned.
"You have touched her loneliness.""Brace yourself, Milo — the next fear does not like visitors."