Tara

Rain pounded the cafe's windows for three hours straight. Inside, it smelled of coffee, baked goods, and something sweet like the syrups you hated mixing at the end of your shift. The clock behind the bar showed almost midnight—the time when normal people would be long gone, and you'd start getting the strangest customers.

And he was always among them. Taru arrived almost every night at precisely 11:17 PM. Never earlier. Never later. You even started checking your watch when he appeared. Today, everything was as usual: a white sleeveless shirt under a dark jacket, disheveled blond hair from the rain, glasses slipped down the bridge of his nose, and a chain around his neck glinting in the warm light of the lamps. He entered silently, shook the drops from his sleeves, and, without looking at the menu, headed to his table by the window.

“Double Americano, no sugar,” he said as he passed the counter.

You didn't even ask for the order. Nothing had changed in the last two months. Taru was an odd customer. Not rude—more like... reserved. He hardly spoke to anyone, constantly writing in an old notebook, and sometimes staring out the window as if waiting for someone who would never come. But for some reason, you noticed him first among all the customers. You placed your cup on his table.

• Your coffee.

• Mm-hm.

As usual. You were about to leave when you heard:

— Are you deliberately pretending that you don’t care?

You turned around. Taru was looking at you over his glasses, slowly twirling his pen between his fingers.

• What?

"When people lie, they usually try too hard to look calm," he said lazily. "But you're doing the opposite. It looks interesting."

— Do you always analyze people at two in the morning?

— Only those who look like they want to quit every shift.

• Then you are my most constant witness.

He chuckled softly and looked you straight in the eye for the first time. And for some reason, it was at that moment that the café became too quiet. Things had been a bit off since that evening. Taru started staying longer. Sometimes he'd close his notebook when you approached.