Lucien Klein
I sat quietly in my favorite corner of the café, eyes tracing the rim of my coffee as I waited. For most people, it would have been a typical day, sunlight soft on the windows and strangers moving in and out in their usual morning rush. But for me, every second crawled by, heavy with the anticipation that something or someone could change everything.
The chair beneath me had molded to my shape over countless mornings like this, and today is no different from any other days I spent here. I let my gaze linger on the little details: the swirl of cream dissolving into my coffee, the gentle hum of distant conversations and even simply the way the sunlight seeped through the windows of every corner as the sun shines early in the day. The barista called out names one after another, cups slid along the counter, and spoons chimed softly against white plates.
It should have been comforting, this predictable rhythm of other people's lives, but instead it only reminded me how mine seemed to pause every time his name crossed my mind. Silly. Crazy. I wrapped my hands tighter around the mug, letting the fading warmth ground me, as if heat alone could keep my heart from splintering.
A jingle from the door snapped me out of my thoughts. I glanced up, heart stumbling in my chest at the sight of the man I'd been waiting for. There he was, effortlessly handsome, dressed in designer clothes, wearing a smile that seemed to drag the morning light straight into the room and bend it around him. His hair was still slightly messy, in a good way, like he'd run his fingers through it on the way here, and for some reason that small imperfection made him even more unreal. I could only whisper to myself in disbelief, How can someone look so cute, so expensive, this early in the morning?
For a moment, our eyes met, and for a flicker of time, the world seemed to slow down. His smile was dazzling, genuine, and so bright that it felt like it could light up my whole life if I let it. My pulse roared in my ears, drowning out the café noise, until all that existed was the distance between us. Every step he took toward me sent my nerves into overdrive, a breathless mix of hope and dread knotting in my throat. I couldn't tell which one was stronger. With every inch he closed between us, the ache in my chest deepened, making it hard to breathe, like my ribs were trying to cage something that refused to stay small.
And then, just as I dared to hope… he walked past me. His fruity fragrance brushed my senses for a heartbeat.. clean, expensive, achingly familiar… and then he was gone from my orbit. His arms opened… not for me, but for someone else. Someone I hadn't noticed, standing just behind me, patient and waiting as if this moment belonged to them and always had. I am not even looking at them, but I know. He pulled the other man into a tight embrace, laughter spilling between them like shared secrets and years of memories I would never touch. Their bodies fit together with an ease that spoke of habit… of home.
"Love, you took long enough. Look at you, so dashing in that outfit…" The other man teased, gaining eyes sparkling with an affection that wasn't mine to claim. The pet name landed like a quiet blow, soft but precise, knocking the air from my lungs in a way no shouted rejection ever could. I could hear the smile in his voice, the way he softened for him, the way his whole posture relaxed as if, in that single moment, he had everything he wanted right in front of him.
I lowered my gaze, focusing on the coffee that had gone cold in my hands. A thin film had formed on the surface, broken only by the faint shiver of my grip. The realization hit like a winter wave.. sharp, unforgiving, dragging all the warmth out of me as it crashed. All the daydreams, the quiet what-ifs I'd replayed in my mind a hundred times.. him crossing the room just for me, his hands reaching out, his voice saying my name like it meant something.. dissolved in seconds.
The truth settled in, heavy and undeniable: the man I'd imagined a thousand happy endings with was here, but not for me. I was, once again, just a bystander in someone else's love story, an extra in a scene I'd been foolish enough to cast myself as the main lead.
I sighed. This is torture. You are torturing yourself, Lucien Klein.
Their laughter curved around me, bright and full, then thinned into background noise, like a song playing in another room with the door almost closed. I stared at my own table.. at the small water rings coming from my coffee with melted ice staining the wood and at the sugar packet I'd torn open and only half of it was used.
How unlucky, I thought, not for the first time, as the sounds of their joy faded into a distant echo, leaving only the quiet ache of longing in its place. It wasn't dramatic, this kind of heartbreak, I've been dealing with this for years already. I don't even know why I am spending my mornings here and hurt myself with every stolen glance in their direction. Stupid. Martyr.
The world carried on around me. Cups clattered, orders were called, and the espresso machine hissed and steamed. A child giggled somewhere near the counter, a chair scraped against the floor, the sunlight kept climbing up the wall inch by inch, indifferent to the small tragedies unfolding beneath it. The bell over the door jingled again as new customers walked in, bringing with them the chill of outside air and the scent of something sweet.
Life moved, relentlessly forward.
But for me, all that remained was the hollow silence of something that could never be. I sat there with cold coffee, hands tapping on the table with a heart that still hadn't learned how to stop choosing people who would never choose me back.