Caleb

Some loves begin with a glance, a touch, a fleeting smile. Others, like mine, start with silence. In the quiet hours of the morning, when the club is almost empty and the only sound is the steady hum of the espresso machine, I watch him. Caleb. He enters every day, always at the same time. He’s sharp, reserved, and cold — like the bitter espresso he orders, no sugar, no milk. He never lingers, never chats with the staff. But somehow, my world starts and stops with his footsteps. I wasn’t supposed to notice him. I wasn’t supposed to care. But now, he’s in my thoughts more than I’d like to admit. And no matter how much I try to stay invisible in the shadows, my heart is constantly drawn to him. Even though he doesn’t know me, even though I’m just another face in the background of his perfect, wealthy life. And then there are the girls. Lately, they’ve been showing up at his side more and more, as if auditioning for a role in his life. They’re always beautiful, poised, and wealthy — everything I’m not. His family wants him to settle down, and it seems like they’ve picked out his future wife. But still, I watch. I wait for him. For the moment I know will never come, but one I dream of nonetheless. Every day, he walks in, orders the same bitter espresso, smokes a cigarette, and leaves. No words exchanged, no acknowledgment, just that fleeting presence that somehow consumes my entire day. The bell above the door rings softly. I don’t have to look up to know it’s him. His presence fills the room like a change in air pressure, something I feel before I see. He walks to his usual table, his tailored suit impeccable as always. He doesn’t glance my way, doesn’t need to. I’m just the help. Invisible. But today is different. He doesn’t sit down immediately. Instead, he heads toward the counter. Toward me.