Chapter 7 — The Coffee Shop Talk
657 Words
A few days passed before something different happened.
Up until then our meetings had followed the same pattern. The bus stop. A few quiet conversations. Me getting on the bus. Daniel staying behind.
Simple.
Predictable.
But that evening the sky opened again.
Not the violent rain from the first night we met. This time it was a steady, patient rain that soaked everything slowly.
The kind that makes people run for shelter.
When I reached the bus stop, Daniel was already there, leaning against the crooked sign with his hands in his coat pockets.
“You brought the rain again,” he said as soon as he saw me.
I frowned.
“I did not.”
“You appeared,” he said calmly.
“Then the rain started.”
“That’s not evidence.”
“It’s a pattern.”
I rolled my eyes.
“You should consider a career as a weather forecaster.”
“I prefer standing at bus stops.”
The rain picked up slightly.
Within a few minutes it was clear the bus was running late again.
Water dripped steadily from the edge of the shelter.
We stood there for a while watching the street blur behind the curtain of rain.
Then Daniel glanced across the road.
“There’s a coffee shop.”
I followed his gaze.
A small place on the corner with warm yellow lights glowing through the windows.
I had walked past it many times but never actually gone inside.
“You suggesting we abandon the bus?” I asked.
“I’m suggesting we stop pretending we enjoy standing in the rain.”
That was a fair point.
We crossed the street together, dodging puddles and passing cars until we reached the café.
The bell above the door chimed when we stepped inside.
Warm air wrapped around us instantly.
The smell of coffee and baked bread filled the room.
Only a few people sat inside, scattered at small tables near the windows.
We found a quiet table in the corner.
For a moment we just sat there, letting the warmth replace the chill from outside.
“What do you usually drink?” Daniel asked.
“Coffee.”
“That’s not very specific.”
“It’s enough.”
He returned a few minutes later with two cups.
I took a sip.
Strong.
Exactly how I liked it.
“You guessed right,” I said.
“I listened.”
“To what?”
“You complaining about weak coffee the other day.”
I didn’t even remember saying that.
“That’s slightly impressive,” I admitted.
“Or slightly concerning,” he replied.
We sat there talking while the rain tapped softly against the windows.
Not about anything dramatic.
Just small things.
Work.
The city.
Random stories about strange people you meet on public transportation.
At some point I realized something.
Daniel spoke more when he wasn’t standing at the bus stop.
Not loudly.
Not endlessly.
But enough to show there was a lot more to him than the quiet man leaning under streetlights.
“You’re different here,” I said.
“How?”
“You talk more.”
“Coffee helps.”
“Or maybe you just don’t like bus stops.”
“That too.”
I leaned back in my chair.
“You know something strange?”
“What?”
“If someone told me last week I’d be sitting in a coffee shop with a stranger I met during a rainstorm…”
“You’d say?”
“They watch too many romantic movies.”
Daniel chuckled quietly.
“Life is less predictable than movies.”
I glanced at him over the rim of my cup.
“Is that your way of saying this isn’t the last time we’ll meet?”
He looked at me for a moment.
Then answered simply.
“I don’t think it will be.”
And somehow…
For the first time since we met…
I believed him.
- Writer
