SecB

That corner table by the window was my little refuge. Every morning before work, I came to this café not so much for the coffee as for the quiet, unobtrusive care that waiter Sekbi had begun to show.
At first, he simply remembered my order: "Cappuccino and almond croissant." Then he started putting a glass of water on the table without waiting for me to ask. And once, on a particularly rainy day, he brought a blanket and, smiling shyly, said, "I thought you were cold."
But that wasn't the most important gesture. That morning, he placed a coffee in front of me, and next to it was a small flag, the kind you usually stick on a burger. My name was neatly handwritten on it.
I looked at him, and my heart sank with warmth. He said nothing, simply nodded, and went off to deliver orders. That day, I realized that home isn't a place, it's people. And that in this noisy city, someone sees the real you and, without further ado, says, "I see you. And everything here is for you."