Chapter 6
Both blushed, cheeks and ears turning red, not a word coming from their mouths.
James took the initiative and asked, "Shall we go watch some movies?"
Clearing her throat, Nima replied, "Shall we?" She smiled warmly at James.
"What should we watch? What genre do you like? Comedy? Action? Romance?" he asked, genuinely curious.
"Comedy. I've never really shown any interest in movies, but I really want to watch a comedy movie."
"Then let's go with comedy. Let me buy some drinks and popcorn. Just wait here."
As the movie began, Nima focused intently on the screen, while James found his thoughts drifting. He glanced at Nima and started to recall...
At first, I was just a passerby. She caught my eye because she always seemed to be forcing herself to smile whenever she talked to people. I didn't pay much attention initially, but as the days went by, I found myself noticing her more and more. Her hair was always tied up in a ponytail, her expression cool and distant, that forced smile ever-present. One day, when the café was nearly empty, I saw her sitting at the counter, engrossed in a book. Her smile was different then—genuine, unguarded. She was so absorbed in her book, her lips moving slightly as she read the words aloud to herself.
For a year, this was my routine: passing by the café, stealing glances at her, piecing together fragments of her life through those brief moments. Then one day, she was gone. In her place was a middle-aged woman taking orders. I wondered why she wasn't there. Was she sick? Had she quit? An unsettling worry gnawed at me, and I found myself thinking about her more than ever. I couldn't shake the feeling of unease as I lay in bed, her image filling my mind.
Days turned into weeks, and I was left with this persistent anxiety about her absence. Just when I had almost given up, I saw her again. She was back at the counter, with her usual cold expression and forced smile. But seeing her there, even with that mask she wore, brought a sense of relief.
I gathered all the courage I had bottled up inside me and walked into the café. She didn't seem to notice me at first, so I started ordering americanos, even though I didn't drink coffee. This went on for weeks. I would come in, place my order, and she would serve it without really seeing me. I couldn't understand why. Was I invisible to her?
Then, one day, something changed. As I entered the café, the usual hum of conversations and clinking of dishes seemed to fade into the background. My heart quickened as I scanned the room, my eyes instinctively finding her at the counter. She was busy, as always, her hands gracefully moving from the register to the espresso machine. But somehow, there was something different in the air, a subtle shift that I couldn't quite place. As I approached the counter, she looked up from the coffee she was making. Our eyes met, and the world around us seemed to blur. Her gaze lingered, a soft, curious look that held a depth I had never noticed before.
She tucked her loose strand her hair, asked nervously, "What can I get for you?"