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.17Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡRJdBDcoruT
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.17Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡClpbOrqr79
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.17Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ55bbhf1stM
I didn’t either.
But I kept watching.17Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡHuZUr0nb9P
And I started arriving earlier.
Not for the coffee.17Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡiueJTS1UGr
Not for the seat by the window.17Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡzUzbleccfd
But for the stranger who made silence feel like a language I wanted to learn.
I didn’t know his name.17Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡMIeBMJTils
I didn’t know his story.
All I knew was that he was always there…17Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡdlNvKskqCf
and now, I didn’t want him to leave.
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