The neon light of the "Open" sign flickered, casting a rhythmic crimson glow across the deserted diner. Maya sat at the corner booth, her silhouette sharp against the glass. On the table, her phone sat propped against a salt shaker, the screen glowing with a draft of a video she wasn’t sure she’d ever post.
The track started—the slow, haunting swell of Paul Anka’s "Put Your Head on My Shoulder." It was pitched down, dripping with a nostalgic, lo-fi haze. The neon light of the "Open" sign flickered,