In the Café
He sits alone, lost in thought,
She enters quietly, a hesitant smile.
He: "I thought you wouldn't come."
She: "I almost didn't. But here I am."
Awkward silence, coffee steaming.
He: "How have you been?"
She: "Busy. You?"
He: "The same. But not too busy to think of you."
She: "Funny how life moves on, yet some things linger."
They both sip their coffee, eyes meeting briefly.
He: "Do you remember that night?"
She: "How could I forget? It changed everything."
He: "I wonder sometimes if we made the right choice."
She: "There are no right choices, only the ones we make."
Another pause, the weight of unspoken words.
400 Stance:
The café hums around them, a backdrop to their reunion,
Each heartbeat aching with what was and what could have been.
He: "I miss us."
She: "I do too, sometimes."
The café hums around them, a backdrop to their reunion.
He: "Will we ever find our way back?"
She: "Maybe we already have, in moments like this."
He: "I hope so."
She: "Me too."
Their hands touch briefly, then withdraw.
He: "I should go."
She: "Yes, me too."
They stand, hesitant to leave the warmth of shared memories.
He: "Take care of yourself."
She: "You too."
About the Creator
jameel Nawaz
With over five years of expertise in content writing, My passion lies in creating compelling narratives that resonate with audiences across various platforms. I consistently deliver high-quality content.
Keep reading
More stories from jameel Nawaz and writers in Writers and other communities.
The Last Enchanter
The Last Enchanter** In the ancient realm of Eldoria, where magic flowed like rivers and dragons soared across the skies, there existed a prophecy spoken by the seers of old. It foretold of a time when darkness would descend upon the land, threatening to devour all that was magical and pure. Only the Last Enchanter, born of both human and elven blood, could wield the power to save Eldoria from its impending doom.
By jameel Nawaz2 years ago in Education
Should We Not Try to Get Too Political?
Here's something you often hear people say, "I try not to get too political." I understand the sentiment and I sympathize with it... while at the same exact time, I completely disagree with the notion. Whether it's referring to social media or wherever, it's kind of unavoidable. You can attempt to sidestep it, not engage, leave the less important things for actual politicians to discuss... you can want it to not take over your life, your conversations, your relationships, and that makes perfect sense.
By Stephen Kramer Avitabile4 days ago in Writers
James Assali: A Deep Dive Into His Personal Life and Professional Career
James Assali is not a polished, overnight success story. His life and career reflect something founders, business owners, and creators understand well: momentum built through resilience, conviction, and long-term thinking. At a time when entrepreneurship is often framed around shortcuts and hype, James Assali’s journey stands out because it’s grounded in lived experience, personal loss, faith, and sustained execution.
By CEO A&S Developers2 days ago in Writers
Foot Bindings
I asked my grandmother how she knew she'd fallen in love. I am not sure I ever did love him, she said. This was before I met my husband. I was naive, a naked spring, a raw nerve of a thing. That cannot ever be me, I knew. Sadness swept in gently like a Moscow thaw. It is no simple thing, looking into a woman's vast soul and seeing its foot bindings. Now, in Italy divorced with my skin singed off, when I say I don't love him mean: I have succeeded at feeling nothing most days and it mostly works. Do you want the comfort of Nothing? Do you want Nothing, too? Be warned: you'll never be free, even when you are nothing. Here is what doesn't work: Accepting the stages of grief. Talking about it. Sitting with the feeling. Missing him—no, the person you were when you believed in death do us part. Writing poetry. That, too. When I say I don't love him I mean: I feel capsized in an endless, starved tide. What sometimes works: selective memory. You must forget ripe tomatoes and his beard and feeling perfectly sheltered in a big blue world. Forget coffee in bed, laughter watching TV, blowing out the candles on the birthday cake and the quiet all-encompassing knowledge that you are chosen. Remember only how love turned to a banal everyday survival act, a trapeze act unsure whether he will catch you, how the warmth stagnated and became sour, remember the foot bindings and remember the resentment boiling in your veins as you stick it out for the kids. Six-hour Netflix binges help, too. A man's fingers tracing your spine. Frozen pizza at 2 a.m. Random trips to the museum just to stand near things that last a while. The realization that crying won’t change anything. Seeing that life is just a dream, and refusing to participate in your own suffering. Bite your fist. Walk on eggshells around joy. When I say I don't love him, I mean he didn’t break my heart, he just stopped touching it and it forgot how to beat right.
By Ella Bogdanovaabout 10 hours ago in Poets
Comments (4)
Outstanding! BRAVO!
Hi Jameel I just subscribe to you I hope you subscribe me too
Sometimes it's better to leave it at just the right time
This story is a poignant exploration of a past love. The dialogue is subtle and the setting creates a perfect atmosphere for their reunion. The ending, while bittersweet, leaves a lingering sense of hope.