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He felt the eyes of the waitress, a young woman with silver earrings, as she wiped down the counter. She had seen him here every Tuesday, staring at the same page.

The clock on the wall of the "Café am Rande" didn’t tick; it hummed, a low vibration that Elias felt in his teeth. On the scarred wooden table sat a leather-bound notebook, its edges frayed and darkened by the oils of his palms. NГ¤chstes Kapitel

Elias took a slow sip of his espresso. Outside, the Berlin rain turned the pavement into a dark mirror, reflecting the neon amber of the streetlights. He looked at the last filled page—a messy, tear-stained entry from six months ago. Since then, he had carried the book everywhere, but he hadn't written a single word. He was stuck in the epilogue of his own grief. He felt the eyes of the waitress, a

"You’re at the end of the ink?" she asked softly, nodding toward the book. On the scarred wooden table sat a leather-bound