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Summary
Rumi checks her watch again for the third time now.
Mira is half an hour late -- it's become habitual over the years. She had become increasingly more distant with the other two ever since they drew closer to each other.
"How much longer, dude?" Zoey whines impatiently, tapping her pink tipped nails into the wooden surface of the table.
"Well any time within the next ten seconds to another hour, I'd say." Rumi responded with honesty, sighing to herself and on behalf of Zoey's patience that is quickly wearing thin.