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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.18Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ2RzWVn8nkX
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.18Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ8oz1VYFnM3
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.18Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡvTLI7d2A2t
I didn’t either.
But I kept watching.18Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ6BXJUKLf3I
And I started arriving earlier.
Not for the coffee.18Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡDJv0l5ruPt
Not for the seat by the window.18Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡYUx8ARgQ3U
But for the stranger who made silence feel like a language I wanted to learn.
I didn’t know his name.18Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡLg0MtSxbcT
I didn’t know his story.
All I knew was that he was always there…18Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡyYt7s6IgLo
and now, I didn’t want him to leave.
