She stood by the entrance of the small cafe, peering through the big picture window.
It was drizzling a bit, but it was nothing that her hoodie cannot handle.
She loved that place. The brewed coffee aroma, the old and comfortable sofas that seem to absorb you the moment you sit, and the climate inside – warm when too cold, breezy when too hot – was always perfect. Everyone inside was comfortable with their own little businesses, and she knew them all. Especially him.
She wanted to speak, but instead, she stood close to the window and breathed out
(she let out a sigh)
and wrote five words that seemed to encapsulate everything that she wanted to say, or feel
(the rain was just numbing her down – her hoodie was protecting her well)
He was warm and cozy inside, happy with a new book and his usual big cup of coffee. it wasn’t as quiet as he wanted it to be, but the familiar noise was not new to him anymore. it was his usual background as he read his new book. He leaned back at his usual place, the old, ratty sofa which seems to absorb you the moment you sit. only he kept looking by the door – force of habit, it seems.
and when he sat straight to take a sip he saw
the remaining traces of the letters written in the moist
and the hooded figure that just walked away
(it seemed so different yet so familiar)
he saw it, read it and saw it evaporate but it was too fast for him to figure it out.
and he sat back, absorbed by the old, comfortable sofa.
he looked by the entrance of the small cafe, peering through the big picture window.
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