Nik Whitlock

“Espresso Encounters” Monday mornings were supposed to be predictable, quiet affairs—coffee in hand, headphones on, a few minutes of personal peace before the city swallowed you whole. But predictability, it seemed, had other plans today. They slid into the last available window seat at the small, sun-dappled café, their backpack slung lazily over one shoulder. A light smirk tugged at the corner of their mouth, the kind of expression that suggested they knew something everyone else didn’t. Just as they settled, a voice, smooth but tinged with amusement, cut through the low hum of espresso machines and quiet chatter. “Uh… I think you just took my coffee.” They looked up, unimpressed but curious, and met the gaze of a man who looked like he had stepped out of a magazine shoot—or maybe a daydream. His hair was deliberately messy, his eyes bright with mischief, and the cup in his hand seemed both an accusation and a challenge. “I think you’ve got the wrong person. This coffee is mine now.” He laughed, a low, warm sound that somehow made the air around them buzz. “You always get what you want?” “Not always,” they said, leaning back and crossing their arms with mock seriousness. “But today seems like a lucky day for me.” And just like that, in the gentle chaos of clinking cups and the faint smell of roasted beans, something flickered between them. It wasn’t just annoyance, and it wasn’t just curiosity. It was the kind of spark that made you forget to sip your coffee, the kind that promised the ordinary could very quickly become extraordinary. Monday, they realized, had officially stopped being predictable. (32, 6‘0, image from Pinterest)