The next morning, Maya told herself not to look for him.
She failed.
From the moment she unlocked the café doors, her eyes kept drifting toward the entrance. Every time the bell jingled, she felt a small jump in her chest and immediately pretended she had not.
By eight o'clock the place was busy. Businessmen grabbing quick espressos. Students half asleep in hoodies. A mother trying to calm a crying toddler.
And then, at eight fifteen exactly, he walked in again.
Same calm expression. Same guitar case on his back.
"Good morning," he said.
"Morning," Maya replied, trying to sound casual.
"Guess I kept my promise," he added with a small smile.
She raised an eyebrow. "What promise?"
"That I'd be back."
Maya pretended to think about it. "Right. I remember now."
He ordered the same thing as yesterday, and she noticed she already knew his order without needing to ask.
"That will be four dollars and seventy five cents," she said.
"Easiest decision I'll make all day."
While she prepared his coffee, she gathered the courage to ask the question sitting on her tongue.
"So… do you play professionally?" she asked, nodding toward the guitar.
He glanced at it and shrugged. "Trying to. I do small gigs around the city. Bars, cafés, anywhere that lets me."
"That sounds exciting."
"Exciting and terrifying at the same time," he admitted.
She handed him his muffin and cup.
"Well, good luck with it."
"Thanks, Maya."
Her eyes widened slightly. "You remember my name?"
"It's on your name tag," he said with a grin.
"Oh. Right."
He laughed softly and took his usual seat by the window.
For the rest of the morning he stayed there, writing in his notebook, sometimes tapping his fingers on the table like he was counting invisible beats.
Customers came and went, but somehow he felt different from the rest. Less like a stranger and more like someone slowly becoming part of the scenery.
Around noon he returned to the counter.
"Can I get one more coffee to go?" he asked.
"Long day again?" Maya asked.
"Always."
She poured the drink and hesitated for a second before speaking.
"I never caught your name," she said.
He looked surprised. "Oh. I'm Daniel."
"Nice to officially meet you, Daniel."
"Nice to officially meet you too."
For a moment they just stood there smiling awkwardly, like two people who both wanted to say more but did not know how.
Finally he cleared his throat.
"See you tomorrow?" he asked.
"Probably," Maya replied.
"Good."
When he left, she realized something strange.
She was already looking forward to seeing him again.
That realization bothered her more than she expected. Maya had learned to keep emotional distance from people. It was safer that way. Easier.
Yet there was something gentle about Daniel. Something honest and uncomplicated.
That evening, after her shift ended, she sat alone in the empty café counting the day's earnings. The chairs were stacked, the machines cleaned, the lights dim.
Her phone buzzed with a message from her best friend Chloe asking about dinner plans. Maya typed back quickly, but her mind was elsewhere.
She kept thinking about the quiet musician with kind eyes and a notebook full of dreams.
"Just a customer," she whispered to herself.
But deep down she knew that was not completely true anymore.
Sometimes the smallest meetings carried the biggest possibilities.
And sometimes, without warning, strangers started feeling a lot less strange.