Adam began returning to the café almost every evening. He would sit in his usual corner, and the conversations between him and Yara started flowing more naturally. It felt strange to Yara—she wasn't the type of person to open up to strangers easily, but with Adam, things felt different.
One evening, as the soft breeze brushed against the café windows, Adam finally decided to open up about his past. "I lost someone very close to me," he said quietly, without meeting her eyes.
Yara stopped wiping the table and sat down across from him. "I'm sorry to hear that."
"It was two years ago. She was… my wife." He paused for a moment, as if the words were painful to say. "We lived a quiet life together, but she was taken from me in an accident."
Yara felt a deep sympathy for him. She hadn't expected his loss to be so profound, but in that moment, everything became clear. All those sad, distant glances and the silence he carried with him were signs of a great burden.
"Adam…" she whispered, unsure of what to say.
"I'm sorry if I've burdened you with my story," he said, trying to regain his usual calmness.
"No, not at all. I'm glad you shared it with me," she replied gently, her eyes meeting his.