SHE WALKED INTO THE CAFE IN UNIFORM—AND I NEVER EXPECTED HER TO LOOK AT ME LIKE THAT
I hadn’t seen her in almost five years.
Not since that night. The one with the broken window, the missed calls, the words we both regretted but never took back. She went one way, I went the other. She joined the force. I stayed in the neighborhood we both swore we’d leave.
So when she walked into the café this morning in full uniform, mask on, eyes sharp, I froze.
She didn’t see me at first. Just walked in like she was there for something official—checked her phone, leaned against the frame of the door, all business. But I knew that posture. I knew the way she tilted her head when she was concentrating. I knew the scar just under her ear.
I almost didn’t recognize her at first, even though her face was just as beautiful as I remembered. It had been five years, but it felt like no time had passed. The years hadn’t softened her, though. She still carried herself with that same strength, that same determination—like she was always ready for whatever challenge came her way.
My heart skipped a beat when she turned her head slightly and glanced around the room. Her eyes met mine.
For a moment, everything stood still. The noise of the café faded. The buzz of the coffee machine, the clink of spoons against mugs, it all disappeared. It was just her and me, and the weight of everything we had left unsaid between us.
Her gaze lingered, just for a second longer than necessary, and then, without breaking stride, she walked up to the counter.
I sat frozen, unsure of what to do. Should I get up? Should I pretend I hadn’t seen her? My fingers gripped the edge of the table, the tension building in my chest. But I couldn’t ignore the pull of her presence. Even after all these years, it was like she had a hold on me.
I was still staring when she ordered, her voice steady and professional. “Just a black coffee, please,” she said, her mask barely shifting as she spoke. She glanced over her shoulder again, her eyes scanning the room, then landed on me once more.
There it was again—the moment where everything felt like it was holding its breath. Her eyes softened, just the tiniest bit, before she looked away and took her coffee. But I knew what I’d seen—an acknowledgment. Maybe even an invitation.
I couldn’t let this pass. Not again. Not after all these years.
I stood up, my legs a little wobbly, and walked over to her.
“Hey,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. “It’s been a while.”
She looked up at me, and for a second, I saw a flicker of surprise in her eyes. But it was gone before I could read it, replaced by something more guarded, more distant.
“Yeah,” she said, her tone neutral. “It has.”
I hesitated. “Mind if I sit?”
She glanced at the table where she was standing, then back at me. “I don’t have long.”
“I won’t take much of your time,” I said quickly, sitting across from her. “I just… I wanted to talk. If you’re okay with that.”
