It was a rainy evening on Avenue Street. Inside the small coffee shop, the comforting aroma of freshly brewed coffee mingled with the soft hum of conversation, while gentle music played in the background. Everything seemed ordinary—except for a woman seated in the corner, quietly sipping her black coffee and gazing out the window.
For months, Camille had been coming to the shop at exactly 6:00 p.m., always ordering the same coffee and pastry. She stayed for two hours before leaving, like clockwork. At first, the staff found it curious, her dedication to this daily routine. But soon, she became a fixture in the café, her quiet presence familiar to everyone, including the owners.
Three months passed before one of the baristas, emboldened by the growing curiosity, asked, "Hey Cams, I've been wondering... you never miss a day. Are you waiting for someone?"
Camille froze for a moment, caught off guard. The question was innocent enough, but it hit her harder than she expected. Forcing a smile, she responded, "Yeah, I guess I was waiting for someone... someone important. But they never showed."
The barista's playful smile faded, realizing the weight of Camille's words. But before she could say anything, Camille waved it off, quickly adding, "Don't worry, it's no big deal. I'm probably just used to the routine now."
As she returned to her seat, Camille stared out the window again, her mind drifting.
Am I still waiting for him?
The thought lingered, but this time, it felt different.