Jordan, a trans man with kind eyes and a patchy beard he was proudly not shaving, wiped down the counter. He was the unofficial steward of this space. Across from him sat Mari, a trans woman whose laugh was a sonic boom, and Sam, a teenager who had just come out as non-binary, their hands wrapped around a lukewarm tea.

Outside, the rain stopped. A single shaft of late-afternoon sun broke through the clouds, catching the dusty pride flag hanging in The Haven’s window. The pink stripe—the one for same-gender attraction—bled into the blue. But it was the white stripe in the middle, the one for those who are transitioning, who are non-binary, who are in between , that seemed to glow the brightest.

Sam looked up from their tea, tears finally spilling over. “So we have to be brave? All the time?”