I love that you were mine

Chapter 2

I found myself back at the coffee shop the next day, and then the next, and the next. It wasn’t intentional at first. I had just wanted to grab a coffee and escape the noise of the world. But after that first encounter with her, the one that left me with more questions than answers, I couldn't stop myself. I kept telling myself it was just about the coffee, just about a place where I could sit in peace. But I knew better. There was something about that coffee shop, something about the way she moved behind the counter, that drew me in every time.

She was always there, like a fixture I could rely on, her hands working rhythmically to prepare drinks, her face focused and serious, as though the rest of the world didn’t matter. Every time I walked in, my eyes would naturally gravitate toward her, even though I never made an effort to engage. She never acknowledged me. No smiles, no glances, nothing. And that was the strangest thing of all.

I was used to being noticed. Used to the attention that followed me wherever I went. But this? This was different. She had no interest in me. I could sense it, in the way she moved and in the way she treated the customers. Polite, yes. Professional, yes. But there was a distance. A wall I couldn’t get through.

At first, I thought maybe it was just a coincidence. Maybe she was having a bad day, or maybe I hadn’t caught her in the right mood. But after the third visit, and the fourth, and the fifth—each one more frustrating than the last—I started to feel like I was invisible. And the more invisible I became, the more it bothered me. I couldn’t understand it.

I would order my coffee, always the same. Black, no sugar. I’d find a seat by the window, and I’d wait. Sometimes, I’d stare out at the street, pretending I was lost in thought, but really, I was just waiting for the moment when she’d finally look my way.

But she never did. Not once.

---

It was on the seventh day, I think, when I noticed someone else in the shop—someone new. A man in his early twenties, tall, lean, with a mop of curly hair and a nervous energy that seemed to buzz around him. He came in just as I was sitting down, and he made a beeline for the counter, his eyes darting around like he wasn’t sure of where to stand. He stood there for a moment, hands clasped nervously in front of him, before the barista noticed him and greeted him with a small, polite nod.

"Good morning," she said, her voice smooth, practiced. I couldn’t help but eavesdrop on their conversation, wondering why I cared so much. She seemed to give him her full attention, unlike me. Her voice was warm, but there was no flirtation. Just professionalism.

The man ordered something complicated, something with coconut milk and extra cinnamon, and I watched, intrigued by how easily she accommodated him. It was nothing like the indifference she showed me. The man stood there, waiting for his drink, shifting from one foot to the other, occasionally glancing around, but it was obvious he was trying to make an impression.

When the drink was ready, she handed it to him with a smile—a real one. And he took it, his face lighting up as if he'd won some small victory. There was a brief exchange, some polite banter, and then the man turned and left. But not before he gave me a glance—a look of curiosity, like he was trying to figure me out.

That look lingered with me long after he was gone.

---

The days began to blur together. I kept visiting the coffee shop, sitting at my usual spot by the window. I’d drink my coffee, gaze out at the busy street, but my mind would always wander back to her. The way she moved behind the counter, the way her lips would curl slightly when she spoke to a customer, how her eyes would light up when someone was polite or engaging.

It irritated me. But it also intrigued me.

One morning, I arrived earlier than usual. It was quiet, the usual hum of the city still distant, and I noticed she was the only one working. No one else was around. I hesitated for a moment, wondering if I should just leave. But I didn’t. I walked up to the counter, determined to get my usual coffee without making a big deal about it.

"Just the usual?" she asked, glancing up at me with those steady, unbothered eyes.

I nodded, forcing a smile. "Yeah. Just the usual."

There was a brief silence as she prepared my coffee. I watched her, not really seeing her, but trying to. Trying to get past that wall she had built up. For a brief moment, she glanced at me, and I thought—just for a split second—that I saw something. Something flickered in her gaze, but it was gone so quickly I wondered if I had imagined it.

I didn’t push. I didn’t want to seem desperate. She handed me my coffee, and I turned to leave, but then I heard her voice again.

"Is it always just the usual with you?"

I froze mid-step, unsure of how to respond. My heart skipped a beat, and for the first time since I’d started coming here, I felt a slight jolt of something unexpected. Something close to interest.

I turned back to her, meeting her gaze. "I like the usual," I said, shrugging as if it was no big deal.

She raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. "Yeah? You sure that’s all there is to you? The usual?"

I paused. For some reason, her question felt more personal than I expected. It felt like she was asking something deeper. Something that made me think for a moment.

Before I could answer, she smiled again—this time, a little more knowing, a little more amused. "Anyway," she said, "enjoy your coffee."

I walked away, trying to ignore the way my pulse quickened in response to her words. It was a small exchange, but it felt like a shift. Like the first c***k in a wall that had seemed unbreakable.

---

As I sat at my usual seat, I tried to focus on my coffee, but my mind kept drifting back to that brief interaction. She had never spoken to me like that before. It was strange. Almost like she was seeing something in me that I hadn’t even fully acknowledged myself.

As I sat there, pondering the encounter, I noticed someone else in the corner of the shop—a woman, her blonde hair pulled into a loose ponytail, reading a book, her glasses perched on the tip of her nose. She caught my eye for a brief moment, and I thought I saw her give me a quick smile. Nothing overt, just a polite acknowledgment.

I smiled back. It was nothing more than a passing interaction, but I felt it. I felt that fleeting connection, and for the first time in a long time, I wondered if maybe, just maybe, there was something more to the world than just the game I’d been playing.

As I continued to sit there, the quiet hum of the coffee shop almost lulling me into a daze, I couldn’t help but feel a shift. Maybe it was the interaction with the barista—something about it had gotten under my skin. Or maybe it was just the way she had looked at me, the faint challenge in her eyes. It wasn’t much, but it was something. A c***k in the routine. A reminder that I wasn’t invisible after all.

I couldn’t stop thinking about it. About her.

But as much as I wanted to focus on that fleeting moment, my attention was pulled back to the blonde woman in the corner, the one who had smiled at me earlier. She was still reading, her focus entirely on the book in front of her. Her presence was calming in a way, unassuming, as though she didn’t expect anything from anyone. It was a stark contrast to the energy the barista seemed to radiate.

I shifted in my seat, trying to ignore the pull of curiosity. I had come here for coffee, after all—not to get caught up in some strange dance with a woman I barely knew. But something about the blonde woman’s quiet composure intrigued me. She wasn’t seeking attention, yet she had given me a smile, a simple acknowledgment.

I finished my coffee, set the empty cup down with a soft clink, and began to stand up. I told myself it was time to leave. But as I turned to grab my jacket, I caught sight of the barista again. She was talking to a regular customer, a middle-aged man in a suit who was making some lighthearted joke. She laughed, the sound clear and unburdened, and I couldn’t help but watch her.

Her laugh was different. It wasn’t the kind of laugh that invited flirtation or admiration. It was real. Genuine. And for some reason, that caught me off guard. It was as if, in that moment, I saw her for the first time—not as a challenge, not as a distant object of desire, but as a person.

But then, as quickly as the thought came, I pushed it aside.

She was still nothing more than a barista. A woman who probably didn’t give a damn about me. The game I was used to playing—charming, flirting, being the center of attention—didn’t work on her. That was clear. But the idea of being seen, truly seen, like I wasn’t just a pretty face or some passing flirt, that felt… unfamiliar. And maybe that’s why I kept coming back. To see if I could break through the wall. To see if there was something beneath the surface.

---

The next morning, I went back again. I hadn’t planned on it, but my feet had carried me here as though I was drawn by some invisible force. As I entered, I didn’t immediately look for her, didn’t even check to see if she was working. I just ordered my coffee and found my usual seat by the window, the same one I always took.

And there she was—behind the counter, pouring milk into a steaming cup with steady hands. She moved with that same calm precision, almost mechanical, like it was all second nature. But I couldn’t stop looking at her.

She seemed… different today. I couldn’t pinpoint what it was, but there was something more relaxed about her. Maybe it was just the early hour, or maybe she had already had her coffee, but there was a sense of ease in the way she worked. For a brief moment, our eyes met—just for a fraction of a second. But it was enough. Enough to make my heart skip, to make my breath catch in my throat.

I forced myself to look away quickly, pretending like nothing had happened, like the brief connection didn’t matter. I reached for my coffee as though I hadn’t just felt that subtle electric pull.

But then she did something unexpected. She set down her milk steamer and walked over to my table, her movements slow but purposeful. I looked up, surprised, and met her gaze again.

"Is the usual working for you?" she asked, her voice soft but direct.

I froze for a moment, unsure of how to respond.

“Yeah,” I said, trying to sound casual. “Always works.”

She nodded, but there was a hint of a smile tugging at her lips. It wasn’t much, just a small curve of her mouth, but it was the first real sign of warmth I had gotten from her.

“Well, don’t let me stop you,” she said with a casual flick of her hand. “But I’ve noticed you’ve been coming in here a lot lately. Same time, same order. I just figured you’d mix it up eventually.”

I blinked, surprised by her words. She’d noticed. I didn’t know what to say, so I just shrugged.

“I like it here,” I said, trying to sound nonchalant. “Peaceful.”

She tilted her head slightly, as though considering my response. “Peaceful, huh? I suppose that’s one way to put it.”

Before I could respond, she turned and walked back behind the counter, leaving me there, wondering what that conversation had meant. It wasn’t much, but it was more than I had gotten in the past week. And for some reason, it left me feeling unsettled.

---

After that, I kept coming back. Each day, I’d walk into the coffee shop, and each time, she’d be there. We’d exchange a few words here and there, nothing too personal, but enough to make me wonder. She never treated me like the other customers—never with the same politeness, the same forced distance. It was something different, something subtle. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it, but it was enough to keep me coming back, day after day.

---

There was a shift, though, as I continued to frequent the shop. The more time I spent there, the more I began to notice the other customers—those who came and went, never staying long enough to make any lasting impression. But there was one who stood out.

He came in a few times, always around the same time I did. He had messy brown hair, sharp eyes, and a quiet air about him that made him blend in but still stand out. He’d sit in the far corner, buried in a book, occasionally looking up to glance at the counter.

At first, I didn’t think much of him. But then, one day, he caught me staring—probably longer than I realized. I quickly looked away, embarrassed. He didn’t say anything. He just gave me a slight nod, like he knew exactly what I was doing.

And that was when it hit me. Maybe it wasn’t just the barista who was creating a strange tension in the air. Maybe it was everything. The shop, the people, the undercurrent of something I couldn’t understand.

Maybe, just maybe, I wasn’t the only one who was trying to break free from the walls we’d all built around ourselves.