The cafe between us

The cafe was almost empty, except for the smell of cinnamon and the soft music of an old Hindi love song on the speakers.

I hadn’t seen him in three years.

But he was sitting at our old corner table – a cracked wooden chair and the one by the window with a view of the lake.

He was still the same.

Maybe a little older, a little more thoughtful, but still himself.

Arjun.

The guy who once told me that you don’t always have to be loud – it has to be true.

We were true for once.

---

I stood by the counter, not sure whether to pretend I didn’t see him or to approach him.

But he looked up. Looked straight at me. Smiled.

That soft, slow smile had unfurled all my walls once upon a time.

“Diya,” he said, my heart pounding louder than the music as I walked towards him.

“Arjun,” I replied, sitting across from him as if no time had passed.

But it was the same.

We had parted ways after drinking coffee in a different cafe, on a rainy day, with more anger and less understanding.

But now, here we were – across a table again, old, silent, still holding parts of each other in the places we had hidden.

---

“I’ll come here sometime,” he said, stirring his tea. “It still looks like you can go in.”

I laughed sadly. “I avoided that. Because I knew you could go in.”

We both laughed. It wasn’t a happy laugh, but it wasn’t bitter either. I meant it honestly.

He looked at me carefully, as if he were memorizing it again. “You’re cutting your hair.”

"You finally grew a beard," I teased.

"Do you like it?"

I shrugged. "It suits you."

There was a silence between us - not awkward, but heavy.

He broke it. "You... be happy."

"I be happy," I said. "Not always. But not often."

He nodded. "Me too. Some days are lonelier than others."

I stared out the window. "Isn't it strange? We loved each other so much. But it just didn't work out yet."

"Maybe it's because we loved the idea of ​​forever," he said, "that we forgot how to endure it on ordinary days."

It hit deep.

We were on fire - passionate, intense, unstoppable.

But the fire burns brightly... and then it burns out.

---

A waiter walked by with hot chocolate. I smiled. “Do you still order it?”

“Always,” he smiled. “Even when it’s not cold.”

I remembered those little things - how he hated coffee, loved chocolate, sang strangely in the car, cried during emotional films, wrote poems that he never showed anyone.

“Did you continue to write?” I asked softly.

He looked surprised. “Do you remember that?”

“I remember everything,” I said. “Even the poem you left in my drawer before we broke up.”

He looked down. “I didn’t think you would find it.”

“I found it. I cried.”

“I cried when I wrote it.”

Silence again.

But this time, there was no pain.

The gentle pain of something that had once been beautiful.

---

“Do you think we would have lasted if we had tried harder?” I asked.

He thought for a moment. “Maybe. Or maybe we would have hurt each other more.”

“I think we should love… but not stay.”

He nodded. “Some people come into your life to teach you how deep your heart can go. You are like that to me.”

I smiled. “You are my first home.”

He reached across the table and gently placed his hand on mine. “I’m not sorry either.”

“I’m not sorry either.”

---

The sun was slipping behind the lake, painting the hotel gold.

I stood up slowly. “I have to go.”

He nodded too. “It’s nice to meet you again.”

I held out my hand.

He took it, pressed it once, and let go.

We didn't exchange numbers.

We didn't promise to stay in touch.

We smiled - like people who once meant everything to each other and have finally made peace.

---

The hotel between us

Some hearts meet again - not to rekindle love, but to be grateful for it.