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.190Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡTmMkrsRcCa
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.190Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡEAziW0dDoE
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.190Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ2ee1uhv4lV
I didn’t either.
But I kept watching.190Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡg5NOSqITxx
And I started arriving earlier.
Not for the coffee.190Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡqL2vYxPBcC
Not for the seat by the window.190Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ9nvXY3vs5m
But for the stranger who made silence feel like a language I wanted to learn.
I didn’t know his name.190Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡZrcOjKNJZ1
I didn’t know his story.
All I knew was that he was always there…190Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡaOqlrCBLts
and now, I didn’t want him to leave.
