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003. the losers club
𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐑𝐈𝐃 𝐒𝐀𝐓 𝐓𝐔𝐂𝐊𝐄𝐃 𝐀𝐖𝐀𝐘 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐎𝐑𝐍𝐄𝐑 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐌𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐂𝐀𝐅𝐄, her eyes scanning the room absentmindedly before falling back to the journal on the table. The worn leather cover felt comforting under her fingers, its familiar weight grounding her in a way that almost made her feel anchored, but not quite. It wasn’t much, just a collection of her thoughts— more like letters, really, addressed to the people she missed. Natasha, mostly.
She flipped the journal open to a blank page. Her pen hovered over the paper for a moment, her grip tightening. Natasha's name sat scrawled at the top, a familiar figure she could never quite bring herself to write beneath anymore. The pages used to fill themselves, words spilling out like a dam had broken, but lately, there was nothing. Not because Ingrid had nothing to say— there was too much, really. She didn’t know where to start, how to organize the chaos in her mind. How could she explain her feelings about the conversation with Peter, the way it had left her hollow and restless? How could she explain why nothing in her life would ever be normal again?
And the nightmares— those nightmares. She hadn’t even begun to address those. They’d been growing in intensity, like a fire she couldn’t control, searing her insides and leaving her more ragged with each passing night. It wasn’t just fear or grief anymore; it was something deeper, angrier, more primal.
The sound of the city hummed through the café, the noise both a distraction and a comfort. New York never slept, and yet, here Ingrid was, trying to find peace in its chaos. She let out a quiet sigh, rubbing her tired eyes before setting the pen down, abandoning the attempt to write anything at all.
“Wow, is that real leather?” A bright, cheerful voice cut through the low murmur of the café, pulling Ingrid out of her spiraling thoughts.
Startled, she looked up, blinking as her eyes adjusted to the figure standing beside her booth. A girl stood there— no, more like radiated there, with long, colorful hair that spilled over her shoulders. Her outfit was a loud mix of patterns and colors that shouldn’t have worked together but somehow did, like she was a living kaleidoscope.
Ingrid tensed instinctively, her eyes narrowing slightly. “Uh… yeah,” she muttered, her voice betraying a hint of irritation. She hadn’t come here to be noticed.
The girl’s face lit up with genuine excitement. “That’s so cool! I love journals, but I always end up losing them, or, you know, I write like one thing and then completely forget about it!” Her voice was bubbly, her words spilling out in a rush as she grinned at Ingrid.
Ingrid blinked again, her brain struggling to catch up. “Okay…”
“Are you writing something important?” The girl leaned in, curiosity sparking in her wide eyes.
