Every Friday at 5:00 PM, I sit by the window at Café Delia with two coffees.
One black with sugar. One oat milk latte—extra foam.
The barista doesn’t even ask anymore. He just sets them down with a nod, like we’re part of some old ritual.
What he doesn’t know is the second coffee is for someone who hasn’t shown up in six years.
Her name is Sophie. And this table? It was our spot.
She left on a rainy Friday. Said she needed space. Said she’d “be in touch soon.”
She never was.
And still… I came back.
I know. Sounds pathetic. But something in me just couldn’t let go. It wasn’t about false hope—it was about honoring the time we had. About remembering her somewhere other than an unanswered inbox.
So I sat. Every Friday.
And today?
Today, I looked up… and she was standing right there.
“SHE LEFT ME AT THAT CAFE 6 YEARS AGO—AND TODAY, I FOUND HER SITTING AT OUR OLD TABLE”
Every Friday at 5:00 PM, I sit by the window at Café Delia with two coffees.
One black with sugar. One oat milk latte—extra foam.
The barista doesn’t even ask anymore. He just sets them down with a nod, like we’re part of some old ritual.
What he doesn’t know is the second coffee is for someone who hasn’t shown up in six years.
Her name is Sophie. And this table? It was our spot.
She left on a rainy Friday. Said she needed space. Said she’d “be in touch soon.”
She never was.
I texted. I emailed. I even wrote a letter and walked it to her old place. But nothing.
So I kept showing up here. Same time, same table. Not to beg the universe for a second chance. Just… to keep something real alive. A memory. A promise. A thread I hadn’t cut.
People moved on around me. The regulars changed. The playlist at the café changed. I got older. Wiser. A little more tired. But I kept coming.
Some called it sweet. Others said it was sad.
But to me, it was simple.
And then today—out of nowhere—I looked up from my cup, and there she was.
Hair a little shorter. Wearing that same ocean-blue scarf she used to love. Holding a paper cup. Hands shaking.
“Sophie?” I said, before I could stop myself.
She nodded.
Then sat down.
No dramatic hug. No tears. Just silence.
“I didn’t know if I’d ever be brave enough to come back,” she said softly. “But I always hoped you’d still be here.”
I slid the oat milk latte toward her. “It’s been waiting for you.”
And for the first time in six years, she smiled.
