The shift drags on, the minutes blending into an indistinguishable blur of half-conscious motions and idle chatter. There's a weight in my chest today, heavier than usual. It's like something in the air has changed, but I can't pinpoint it. I keep thinking about her—her smile, the way she looked at me, like there was something in my eyes she could see. Something I couldn't.
I shake my head, trying to refocus. The café is busy, the kind of bustle I've come to expect. But today, every cup I pour feels slightly off, every word I speak echoes louder than it should. There's an odd emptiness when I'm not lost in the rhythm of the work, when I let my thoughts wander.
I try to get back into the motions, the comforting familiarity of steam rising from the espresso machine, the satisfying weight of a cup in my hands. But my mind keeps returning to her. It's not just the look in her eyes; it's the words, her words, echoing in my mind: "I hope you find it. Whatever it is."
What am I supposed to find?
I glance up at the door again, almost reflexively, even though I know I shouldn't expect her. But she walks in, just as unexpected as last time.
She steps into the café, her presence filling the space in a way that feels almost too quiet. She doesn't make any sudden movements, doesn't demand attention. But there's something in the way she holds herself, something in the calm, deliberate manner with which she scans the room. It's like the whole world slows down when she enters it.
For a split second, I don't even know what to do. The routine is there—serve the coffee, smile, repeat—but with her here, it's different. The air between us feels charged, like it's pregnant with something neither of us is willing to acknowledge. I can't help but wonder if she feels it, too.
She spots me across the room, and the faintest curve of her lips forms a smile. It's not the easy kind of smile. It's the kind that leaves a question lingering in the air, one that hangs between us, heavy with unspoken things.
"Back again?" I murmur, almost before I realize I've spoken.
Her smile widens a fraction, like she's amused by something I can't quite grasp. "I guess so," she replies, her voice softer this time. There's something different in it, like she's searching for something in my expression, but I can't tell what. "I've been thinking about something you said the other day."
I freeze. I know what she's talking about, but hearing her say it like that, like it means something more than just a passing comment… it makes my heart skip.
"What did I say?" I ask, trying to play it cool, trying to act like I don't feel that strange pull between us. But I know I do.
"Something about books fading away," she says, taking a step closer. She's close enough now that I can smell the faint scent of her perfume—something warm, sweet, with a touch of something deeper, like a hidden meaning in it. "I think maybe you were wrong."
My breath catches, the world narrowing to just her voice. Her words settle in my chest, heavy with a quiet finality that stirs something inside me.
"I was wrong?" I repeat, trying to process what she means.
She nods slowly, the movement graceful. "Yeah. Not everything fades. Some things… some things stay with you, even when you don't realize it."
I swallow hard, unsure of how to respond. The weight of her words presses down on me, pulling at the edges of my thoughts. I feel like she's not just talking about books anymore. I feel like she's talking about me. Or maybe about herself. I can't quite tell.
"Do you think… that's true?" I ask, my voice quieter now, the distance between us growing smaller with each passing second.
She hesitates, her gaze flickering briefly to the door, then back to me. For a moment, she's silent, but when she speaks again, her voice is barely above a whisper, as though she's not entirely sure she wants to say it aloud.
"I think some things have a way of lingering," she says. "And sometimes, you can't help but wonder if they're meant to."
I don't know what to say to that. There's a weight to her words, an invisible thread pulling between us. Her gaze holds mine, steady and unflinching, and for the first time, I feel like maybe she's waiting for me to understand something.
But I don't.
Not yet.
Instead, I find myself asking a question I didn't even know I had until it slipped out. "Do you always talk like this?" The words come out before I can stop them, and I'm already regretting them.
Her lips curl into that small smile again. It's not teasing, not mocking. It's just… knowing. "Maybe," she answers, but there's an undertone in her voice that makes my chest tighten. "Sometimes, the things you don't say speak louder than the things you do."
Her gaze lingers on mine, and I can't help but wonder if there's something more she's not telling me. Maybe it's because I don't know what to say next that I feel the silence stretch between us, awkward now. But it's not uncomfortable. It's the kind of silence that feels like something important is hanging just out of reach, waiting for the right moment to fall into place.
She pulls her gaze away first, glancing down at the book in her hand, as if it has suddenly become the most interesting thing in the room. The conversation has shifted again, as naturally as breathing. But I can't help but feel the residue of her words lingering.
"I should go," she says, almost absently. But there's a hesitation in her voice, like she's waiting for something.
I find myself nodding. "Okay. Yeah. See you around."
She doesn't reply immediately. She just looks at me again, the same quiet smile still playing at the corner of her lips. "Maybe," she says, almost like a secret shared between us, "I'll see you when you figure it out."
And just like that, she's gone.
She walks out the door, the bell above it jingling softly, and for a moment, the world feels strangely empty, the quiet echo of her words still ringing in the air. The café is noisy again, customers chatting, cups clinking, the steady rhythm of normal life continuing around me. But I'm not quite sure I can return to it.
What did she mean?
What is it that I'm supposed to figure out?
Her words linger, curling in my thoughts like smoke from an unseen fire, and I can't help but feel like the answers are all hidden somewhere—somewhere just beyond reach.
But I'll find them. I have to.