Chapter 4 Coffee on My Mind

Cynthia

The office lights always felt too bright late in the day, humming faintly like they were trying too hard to keep everyone awake. My desk was still cluttered from the morning rush - labeled vials, paperwork, and a half-empty mug of coffee that had gone cold hours ago.

I tried to focus on the test results in front of me, but my pen hovered over the page. My thoughts kept drifting back to him.

Raymond.

It was ridiculous how a simple text thread could throw me off like this. I'd double-checked everything I wore this morning, straightened my hair twice, and yet here I was still missing half of what my boss said during briefing.

"You good, Cynthia?" Mrs. Walton paused near my desk, her glasses halfway down her nose.

"Yeah. Just tired," I said, stacking papers to look busy.

Her eyes lingered like she could read every thought on my forehead. "Don't burn yourself out. Go home on time."

"Will do."

When she left, I exhaled slowly. Focus, Cynthia. Don't be that girl who can't handle one good conversation with a guy.

But then I remembered his message from last night, and my lips curved before I could stop it.

> "Maybe we could talk again. If that's okay."

"Sure. I'd like that."

And then today, another:

> "Saturday. Eleven?"

"Perfect."

Even brushing my teeth later, I caught myself smiling in the mirror like an idiot.

---

Saturday morning came too fast. I barely slept, but my brain still woke up early, buzzing like I'd had three cups of coffee.

Sonya sat on the kitchen counter with her favorite mug, legs swinging like a kid's. She narrowed her eyes at me the second I walked in.

"You look suspiciously happy," she said.

I poured my coffee and leaned on the counter. "Do I?"

She smirked. "You have that face. The one you get when you're about to do something brave and maybe a little stupid."

"It's just coffee."

"With the mystery man."

"His name is Raymond," I said before I could stop myself.

Her grin stretched wider. "Ooh, name drop. And you said it without turning red. Progress."

I bumped her hip. "You're ridiculous."

She clinked her mug to mine. "To progress."

I laughed, but deep inside, my heart did that unsteady thing again - like it was finally awake.

---

The café door felt heavier than it should have. My fingers gripped my bag strap so tightly it ached as I stepped forward, heart thudding in my ears.

And then he was there.

Raymond.

No hoodie this time, his dark hair brushed back, eyes warm but uncertain.

"Hey," he said, like he wasn't sure I'd really show.

"Hey." My smile felt shy but real.

For a moment, neither of us moved. Then he reached for the door, holding it open like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Inside, the scent of roasted beans and warm pastries cocooned us. People laughed softly over laptops, a barista called out an order, sunlight cut pale lines through the window.

We sat by the glass, the world outside blurring into quiet shapes.

He glanced at the menu, then at me. "You drink coffee, right? Not tea?"

"Coffee's fine," I said.

He smiled slightly. "Good. I wasn't sure if I was about to order something completely wrong."

A laugh slipped out of me, nervous but real. "You overthink things too?"

"Only when I care about getting them right," he said softly.

My stomach tightened, and I looked away quickly, studying the window.

When the drinks came, conversation unfolded like cautious steps across ice. He told me about his work - "freelance logistics," vague enough to mean anything - and I talked about my lab, careful not to mention the long nights or how loneliness sometimes echoed louder than the machines.

At one point, he said quietly, "You're not what I expected."

I blinked. "What does that mean?"

"You're... calmer than I thought. And stronger. Most people I meet are either loud or distracted. You're... here."

The words made my throat tighten. "That's... good?"

"It's good." His eyes softened.

We sipped coffee in silence for a moment, but it wasn't uncomfortable. It felt like waiting for something we both couldn't name yet.

Finally, he set his cup down and said, "I'm glad you texted."

I smiled, heart hammering. "Me too."

For the first time in a long time, I didn't feel like running.

---

When I left the café, the street felt brighter somehow, like the morning had shifted into something new. I caught my reflection in the window-a quiet smile I didn't recognize but didn't want to lose.

Maybe this was just coffee. Maybe it was something else.

Either way, I wasn't afraid to find out.