One Grey Morning

Today, on this overcast Monday, Hala would hear Eli, the cute barista at the corner cafe, say her name.

Normally, she’d let the cashier write “Holly” or “Hailey” in squeaking ink after taking her order, but over time her envy was fanned by the bergamot-heavy steam that entangled his beard while he crafted her drink. Today, she wouldn’t see his thumb cradle her cup’s false moniker. Today, he would announce her to the room, tasting the sounds of haze and moonlight in her name.

“Helen?” He looked at her. Her shoulders dropped with a disappointing exhale. “London Fog for Helen!”