The girl by the window

The Girl by the Window"

The little coffee shop on the corner of Elm Street was filled with the warm hum of quiet conversations and the rich scent of roasted beans. The rain tapped gently on the windows, turning the world outside into a soft blur.

By the window sat a girl with long, flowing hair, a soft pink scarf draped around her neck, her eyes the color of dark chocolate. Her name was Anaya. Every day at 4 PM, she came to this exact spot, ordered a cappuccino with cinnamon, and waited.

Across from her today sat her best friend, Meera, a bubbly, curious girl who always noticed the little things. Like how Anaya’s hands trembled slightly today. Like how she kept looking at the door.

Meera whispered, “He’s not coming again, is he?”

Anaya sighed, her voice barely above the music playing in the background.

“I don’t know… but I still hope he does.”

Meera leaned forward. “You’ve been meeting here for months, waiting. What was so special about him?”

Anaya looked out the window, her voice soft.

“He was like this coffee shop—warm, unexpected, comforting. We met by accident. He spilled his coffee on my book. He apologized with the shyest smile I’ve ever seen.”

“But then he just… disappeared,” Meera said gently.

Anaya nodded. “One day, he just said he had to go. No reason. No contact. Just gone. But before he left, he said, ‘If I can come back, I’ll find you here. Same time. Same place.’”

And so, she waited. Every day. Same time. Same place.

Just as Meera was about to say something, the bell above the door rang.

Both girls turned. A tall figure entered—wet hair, familiar smile, carrying an old book with a coffee stain.

Anaya froze. Her eyes welled with tears.

He walked straight to the table, stopped, and said:

“Same time. Same place.”