Elara wipes down the espresso machine, the morning sun filtering through the window of The Quiet Bean. Her routine is sacred: grind, tamp, brew. The bell on the door jingles, and in walks a new girl. Maya, with a stack of books and a bright, curious smile, orders a simple black tea. She gravitates towards the worn armchair in the corner, the one bathed in the best light. Elara notes the title of her book—a lesser-known fantasy novel she herself loves. She says nothing, but the seed of notice is planted.
For a week, Maya becomes a fixture. She arrives at 10 AM, orders her tea, and reads for two hours. Elara starts anticipating her. She learns that Maya hums softly when she reads a particularly good passage and that she tucks her feet underneath her when she gets deeply absorbed. Their interactions are limited to "Thank you" and "See you tomorrow," but a comfortable, shared silence grows between them, filling the space with unspoken curiosity.
A clumsy customer bumps into Maya's small table, sending her tea cascading over her open book and lap. Maya gasps, jumping up. Elara is there in an instant, not with alarm, but with a calm efficiency. "Let me," she says softly, her hand gently guiding Maya aside. She brings a stack of clean, dry towels and a fresh cup of tea, on the house. Her fingers brush against Maya's as she hands her the new mug—a brief, electric contact that makes them both still for a fraction of a second.
Flustered but grateful, Maya thanks her. "You didn't have to..." she starts. "It's no trouble," Elara replies, her voice softer than usual. She gestures to the book, now sadly water-stained. "Is it... salvageable?" This sparks their first real conversation about the book, the characters, the tragedy of the ending. They talk for ten minutes, and when Maya leaves, she says, "I'll see you tomorrow, Elara." She's used her name for the first time, having read it on the apron. Elara simply smiles, a genuine, slow-spreading smile that reaches her eyes.