I was sitting there, I think it was 14:30 on a Tuesday, watching the rain make streaks down the window of that cafe on campus, and someone was talking to me about ending things. It was loud, the place was packed, and their mouth was moving but all I could hear was the clatter of porcelain cups and the low hum of the espresso machine, not a single word of what they were actually saying. I remember counting the number of people wearing a blue sweater — there were three — and thinking how odd it was, to be so entirely disconnected from something so… final. I just kept watching their lips move, like a movie with the sound turned all the way down. I think I deserved it.