I arrive five minutes early.
The café hums with its usual rhythm. Low conversation. Steam hissing. Cups and plates clinking. It’s familiar. Comfortable.
I choose a table near the window in the middle of the café. Somewhere visible. Neutral.
I set my bag down and check my phone. 12:56.
Aaron spots me almost immediately, his face lighting up as he finishes with a customer. He wipes his hands on a towel and walks over, an easy smile already in place.
“You made it,” he says.
“I said I would,” I reply, smiling back.
He laughs. “I know. I just like confirmation.” He gestures toward the counter. “Your usual?”
“Yes, please.”
He heads back to make it, and I settle into my chair, crossing my legs slowly. I take in the room—not searching, exactly. Just… watching.
The door opens. Someone leaves, and another person enters.
It’s not him.
Aaron returns with my coffee, setting it down carefully in front of me. “On the house,” he says. “For being punctual.”
“Flattery will get you everywhere,” I tell him.
He grins and pulls out the chair across from me. “I’ve been practicing.”
We talk easily at first about how busy the café’s been, the new pastry they’re testing, and how Thursdays always feel longer than they should.
I listen. I respond. I’m present.
But I’m still paying attention to the time on my phone.
1:05.
At 1:08, I decide I’m officially past the point where someone arrives “fashionably late” and into the territory of “making a statement.”
I don’t look at the door anymore. There’s no point. If Sebastian were coming, I’d feel it before I saw him.
That awareness—the one that hums low in my chest when he’s near—never arrives.
A flicker of disappointment passes through me—quick, sharp, then gone almost as soon as I acknowledge it.
Aaron says something that makes me laugh, and this time it’s real.
His smile widens. “You have a pretty laugh.”
“Thanks,” I say. “You caught it on a good day.”
He looks pleased, then thoughtful. “I’m glad you came today.”
“So am I,” I reply. And I mean it.
I wrap my fingers around the mug, warmth seeping into my palms. I take a slow sip and let myself feel the moment for what it is and not what I hoped it might be.
Sebastian didn’t come.
