Pieces of the Past
335 Words
The next morning came with a golden sunrise spilling through the café windows. Amara stood behind the counter, pretending to clean the cups, though her eyes kept drifting toward the door.
He came in, right on time.
“Morning,” Ethan said, his voice soft as ever.
“Morning,” she replied with a shy smile. “Black coffee, right?”
He chuckled. “You remember everything.”
“I try,” she said lightly, sliding the cup toward him.
They talked again — this time longer than usual. The conversation wandered from art to food to family. Amara learned that Ethan grew up in Lagos, moved away for work, and recently came back “to start over.” But when she asked what he meant by that, he fell quiet.
For a moment, she thought he wouldn’t answer. Then he said, almost in a whisper, “I was engaged once.”
Amara froze. She hadn’t expected that.
“She left,” he continued. “Or maybe I pushed her away. I don’t even know anymore. I thought love was enough, but… sometimes love isn’t timing, it’s patience. And I didn’t have that.”
Amara’s chest tightened. She didn’t know what to say. There was a pain in his eyes that words couldn’t reach — the kind that only time could heal.
“I’m sorry,” she said softly.
He gave a faint smile. “Don’t be. It taught me something important.”
“What’s that?”
“That sometimes, love finds you again… when you’re ready to love right.”
Their eyes met — and in that quiet moment, Amara felt her heartbeat skip. She saw it — the honesty, the ache, the hope in his gaze. And though she didn’t understand it fully yet, she knew she was starting to fall for him.
When he left that day, the café felt too quiet, too still. She touched the cup he’d held and whispered to herself, What are you doing to me, Ethan Cole?
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