He was always there before me.
Same table. Same hoodie. Same silence wrapped around him like armor. Table Nine had become his home—claimed not with a reservation, but with presence. The kind of quiet that made you look twice, even if he never once looked back.
I didn’t notice him at first. Not really.167Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ8lQ2oSYnlD
But I noticed the routine.
He’d arrive at 7:42 AM. Never earlier. Never later. Order a black coffee with two sugars, even though he never stirred them in. Headphones in. Laptop open. Typing, pausing, typing again. Like he was writing the world into existence—then deleting it just as quickly.
I convinced myself he was probably a songwriter. Or a coder. Or one of those people who only speak to screens and not humans.
But then one morning, he looked up.167Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡCAySXUGREt
And everything shifted.
It wasn’t a long glance—barely two seconds—but his eyes met mine like they’d been waiting for the chance. Calm. Focused. The kind of look that makes you forget how to breathe for a moment too long.
He didn’t smile.167Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡEitFu731Te
I didn’t either.
But I kept watching.167Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ0kyIel8qX8
And I started arriving earlier.
Not for the coffee.167Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ6DkQC1Udqf
Not for the seat by the window.167Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡES72g9wYRL
But for the stranger who made silence feel like a language I wanted to learn.
I didn’t know his name.167Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡndH9KIDLYe
I didn’t know his story.
All I knew was that he was always there…167Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡjYHj3v0wRV
and now, I didn’t want him to leave.
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