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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.27Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ1DZqu5bsId
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.27Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡMsKgh5VMlt
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.27Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡEeWypwcL5Z
I didn’t either.
But I kept watching.27Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡMmhyPu9lFW
And I started arriving earlier.
Not for the coffee.27Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡj9PtZ1VON0
Not for the seat by the window.27Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡQe7GvgZrQM
But for the stranger who made silence feel like a language I wanted to learn.
I didn’t know his name.27Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡWSQrOM1xLH
I didn’t know his story.
All I knew was that he was always there…27Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡnYCe2Yy9yr
and now, I didn’t want him to leave.
