Sophie had never really bought into the idea of love at first sight—mainly because she wore glasses and, let's face it, her first glimpse of anything was often a little blurry. But on this particular rainy Thursday, her latte was hot, her laptop was on its last legs, and the guy at the next table was flashing her a smile as if he held some kind of secret.
The catch? She was pretty sure she'd never seen him before in her life.
"Is this seat taken?" he asked, gesturing to the chair opposite her.
For a moment, she thought about saying yes—after all, sharing a table with strangers could lead to murder or, even worse, really awkward small talk. But, just then, her laptop decided to let her know it was hanging on by a single thread at 1% battery. Plus, his table was right next to the only outlet.
"You're sitting in my emergency charging zone," she said.
"Then I guess I'm your hero," he shot back, grinning like he'd just committed a crime.
Just then, the coffee shop's Wi-Fi went down, like an old-timey lady fainting. Sophie tried reconnecting, and so did he. Minutes later, they were both glaring at their screens in a synchronized expression of annoyance.
"I think it's a conspiracy," he murmured. "They shut down the Wi-Fi so that people actually talk."
"That's ridiculous," she replied. "But maybe kind of brilliant."
Instead of diving back into their laptops, they spent the afternoon coming up with snarky theories about the barista's undercover life (definitely a spy), arguing over which sitcom was the best (she insisted on Friends, while he was a Brooklyn Nine-Nine fan), and exchanging horror stories from their past dates.
Time slipped by until the café dimmed its lights to signal closing. When they stepped out together, the rain fell softly around them, and he tilted his umbrella just enough so they wouldn't get wet.
"Same time next Thursday?" he asked.
"Only if you bring a working Wi-Fi hotspot," she joked.
"Deal," he said, adding with a grin, "Or how about dinner instead?"
She smiled, her heart racing. "As long as the restaurant doesn't have internet. We wouldn't want to ruin a good thing."
The following Thursday, Sophie walked into the café expecting some awkwardness, but Alex was already there, guarding "their" table like it was a treasure. Their banter picked up as if they'd been doing this for ages.
By the third Thursday, their routine was solidified: lattes, sarcasm, and definitely no Wi-Fi. Everyone in the café noticed—the baristas exchanged knowing smirks, and other customers whispered—but Sophie kept telling herself they were just friends.
Then came the unexpected run-in. One Saturday, Sophie left the café and nearly crashed into Alex outside the nearby bookstore.
"Are you following me?" he teased.
"You wish," she said, feeling her cheeks heat up.
Somehow, they ended up browsing the books together, chuckling at the ridiculous self-help titles, and walked away with more inside jokes than actual books.
Weeks rolled by, and their Thursday outings turned into longer hangouts. They even tried working at the library once, which resulted in getting shushed three times for laughing too loudly. Another time, Alex dared Sophie to dramatically read cheesy romance novels in a bookstore aisle, and to her surprise, she actually went for it.
It wasn't just coffee anymore. It felt like something more.
Then, one rainy evening, the atmosphere shifted. Their playful banter slowed, and their glances felt more meaningful. Sophie almost said that Thursdays were the highlight of her week. But just then, Alex's phone buzzed, and his face turned serious and distant, leading him to leave suddenly.
Sophie tried to brush it off, but curiosity ate at her. A week later, she learned from a mutual friend at the café that Alex was dealing with a lot—caring for his younger sister and facing a tough career choice. He wasn't avoiding her; he was avoiding his own feelings.
Still, it hurt. She tried to let it go, but when she later saw him across town chatting with a woman, her stomach dropped. Assuming the worst, she steered clear of the café.
Alex did the same. Their Thursday tradition fell apart. The barista let out a sigh every time Sophie walked in solo, and she couldn't shake how much she missed his sarcastic smile across the table.
Fast forward two Thursdays later, and Sophie found herself sitting in "their" spot, staring at her lifeless laptop and an equally lifeless Wi-Fi signal, when a shadow fell across her table.
It was Alex. He set down a portable Wi-Fi hotspot with a flourish. "The Wi-Fi works now," he said softly. "But I'm not here for that—I'm here for you."
Her throat tightened. "You're late."
"Was it worth the wait?"
Instead of answering, she leaned across the table and kissed him. The lattes turned cold, the rain continued to fall, and the outside world blurred into insignificance.
From that point on, their Thursdays weren't about charging devices or bad connection. They were about something deeper—the kind of connection that can't be measured by signal strength.