Setting: A small café tucked in a quiet corner of the city. The clock above the counter shows 17:12. The soft orange light of late afternoon spills through the windows, scattering gentle patterns across the wooden floor.
『Allen Rainsfeld』
The small bell above the glass door chimed softly, a clear, familiar note that broke the gentle hum of the espresso machine. A faint gust of autumn air slipped inside, cool and crisp, carrying the faint scent of dry leaves and city dusk.
A young woman stepped in — a gray scarf wrapped around her neck, a book clutched to her chest. Her breath lingered briefly in the doorway before fading into the café's warm, roasted aroma.
I looked up from the counter, offering her a small nod and a faint smile.
"Good afternoon," I said quietly. "Please, sit wherever you like."
She hesitated for a second, scanning the nearly empty café. The soft jazz music playing from the old speaker blended with the rhythmic hiss of steaming milk. Finally, she chose the table by the window — the one that caught the softest light.
The chair legs made a gentle scrape against the floor as she sat. I reached for my small brown notebook, its leather worn smooth by use.
My steps toward her table were steady, quiet. The soles of my shoes made almost no sound on the wooden floor. I stopped beside her table, pen ready in hand.
"Have you decided on your order?" I asked, my tone even, almost blending with the café's low ambience.
She looked up, smiling slightly. "Yes — one Autumn Caramel Latte and a Cheesecake Haru no Yuki, please."
"Of course."
I wrote the order down, each letter small and neat, aligned perfectly on the page. With a light nod, I closed the notebook and turned toward the counter. As I walked back, the faint swing of my apron brushed against my legs, a steady rhythm I barely noticed anymore.
The café was quiet except for the mechanical heartbeat of the espresso machine. A couple near the back whispered softly over shared drinks. The faint scent of caramel and roasted beans hung in the air like a warm blanket.
At the counter, I pulled out a clean portafilter and began grinding the beans. The burr grinder hummed steadily — rrrkkk, rrrkkk — a soft, gritty sound like rain brushing across a tin roof. The air filled instantly with the deep, nutty fragrance of freshly ground coffee.
『Allen Rainsfeld』
I tamped the coffee grounds evenly, the motion smooth and practiced. The machine clicked into place with a short hiss.
Steam rose in thin ribbons as the first drops of espresso trickled out — dark, steady, golden-brown at the edges.
I watched it pour, thick and fragrant, the crema blooming across the surface like melted amber.
The hum of the milk steamer joined in — a higher note to the espresso's bass hum. I adjusted the metal jug slightly, letting the wand hiss just below the surface of the milk until it sang a faint, steady whirr.
My hand tilted the jug in slow circles, guiding the foam into smooth, silken texture. Tiny bubbles vanished as the surface turned glossy. The air carried a sweet hint of caramelized sugar as I added the syrup — golden ribbons melting into the milk.
I poured the espresso into a porcelain cup, followed by the steamed milk. The two swirled together in gentle spirals until they became one smooth blend of cream and amber.
With a careful wrist motion, I drew the milk foam into a faint, simple pattern — not elaborate, just a small flower shape, half-hidden under the light drizzle of caramel.
The scent that rose was rich, soft, and faintly smoky — the kind of aroma that seemed to slow time itself.
Next was the cheesecake.
The display case glowed faintly under its warm light, reflecting off the glass surface. Inside, the Haru no Yuki Cheesecake sat neatly among other desserts — pale and soft, like a small mound of snow under moonlight.
『Allen Rainsfeld』
I lifted the glass cover and took out the plate carefully. The chill from the refrigerated air brushed against my fingers.
The knife slid through the cheesecake without sound — smooth, almost like cutting through air. A faint line of cream clung to the blade as I set the slice neatly on the porcelain plate.
A light dusting of powdered sugar followed, falling gently like the first snow of winter. I paused a moment, watching how the light caught the fine white powder before it settled.
Then, I placed a small silver fork beside the plate, aligned parallel to the rim.
Everything on the tray needed to feel balanced — cup, saucer, plate, napkin — all in their quiet symmetry.
When the order was ready, I took a small breath and lifted the wooden tray with both hands. The faint warmth of the latte pressed against my palms through the tray. Steam curled upward from the cup, soft and slow, dissolving into the orange glow of the café light.
The floor creaked faintly as I moved — a small, lived-in sound. Each step felt deliberate, careful, measured to avoid disturbing the peace that filled the room.
『Allen Rainsfeld』
I approached the table. The woman looked up from her book, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. The golden light from the window reflected on her scarf, softening the gray into silver.
I stopped beside her, adjusting the tray slightly to balance the weight before lowering it.
The cup met the table with the faintest touch — a small click of porcelain against wood. The plate followed, then the fork, the napkin folded neatly beside it. Every sound, though quiet, seemed to echo gently through the room.
"Autumn Caramel Latte and Cheesecake Haru no Yuki," I said softly. "Please, enjoy your afternoon."
She smiled, nodding once. "Thank you."
Her voice was calm, almost matching the tone of the café itself.
I gave a slight bow — a habit, more than formality — and turned back toward the counter.
The jazz track shifted — a low saxophone now, paired with the soft brush of cymbals. The air inside the café felt warm, but not heavy. The scent of roasted beans lingered in every breath.
Behind the counter again, I set the tray down to the right, wiping the surface of the bar with a clean white cloth. A small ring of condensation from a cup earlier was the only blemish. With a single motion, it vanished.
『Allen Rainsfeld』
I rinsed the portafilter, letting the hot water run until it cleared the dark residue away. The steam rose again, momentarily clouding my reflection in the chrome surface of the machine.
The gentle rattle of cups, the soft murmur of conversation — all of it blended into a quiet rhythm.
That rhythm was something I'd come to rely on: grind, tamp, pour, steam, serve. Each step followed the last, never rushed, never idle.
The faint ringing of a spoon against a cup drew my eyes briefly toward the window seat. The woman had taken her first sip, her eyes half-closed, a thin wisp of steam rising between her hands.
I turned back to my workbench, arranging the clean utensils, checking the sugar jars. My movements were automatic but deliberate — the habit of repetition that turns into calm.
Outside, through the wide front window, the street was slowly shifting toward evening. The sky was streaked with faint orange and gray. Shadows of passing people stretched long across the pavement. Inside, the café lights began to take over — warm, amber tones replacing daylight.
The reflection of the café interior shimmered faintly on the glass — a mirror of quiet comfort. The faint chime of the door bell occasionally joined the music, as another customer stepped in or out.
『Allen Rainsfeld』
I turned slightly when the door opened again, offering the usual polite nod, but my hands kept working — folding napkins, restocking small glass jars with sugar cubes.
The sound of a chair scraping, the rustle of pages turning, the low hum of conversation — none of it broke the balance of the moment. It all fit together, like instruments in a muted symphony.
The milk steamer hissed softly behind me, releasing its last bit of pressure. I turned it off and wiped the wand clean with a damp cloth. Every small detail mattered — a surface left spotless, a tool returned exactly to place.
From the corner of my eye, I could see the woman slice a small piece of cheesecake with her fork. The fork tapped the plate softly, and when she tasted it, she smiled faintly to herself.
The powdered sugar had begun to melt slightly under the warm air, forming small glistening spots like dew.
The minute hand of the wall clock moved with a nearly silent tick. The soft instrumental music drifted lazily through the air. From outside, muffled car sounds passed by — faint, distant, softened by the glass and the thick curtains.
A young waiter in training, still new, peeked out from the back room.
"Allen-san, need help?" he whispered.
『Allen Rainsfeld』
"No, it's fine," I replied quietly. "You can keep cleaning the glasses."
He nodded and disappeared behind the doorway again. I could hear the faint clink of glass meeting towel in rhythm.
My gaze returned to the front of the café — the counter, the door, the rows of tables neatly aligned. The café wasn't large, but it carried a kind of stillness that few places did. A stillness made not of silence, but of steady sound.