It was always tea. Never coffee. No milk, no sugar. Just a bitter, precise cup of Earl Grey, like clockwork every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday at 8:07 a.m.
The first time Elara noticed him, it was raining—the kind of rain that slapped sideways like it had a personal grudge. He walked in without an umbrella, soaked to the bone but oddly calm, his dark coat clinging to him like a second skin. And even then, even dripping water onto the floor, he asked for tea. Earl Grey. No milk. No sugar.
"You okay there, sir?" she'd asked, holding out the paper towel roll.
He blinked at her, as if surprised she was speaking. Then he smiled—just barely, the kind of smile that looked like it hadn't been used in years—and nodded. "Thank you."
He wiped his hands, shook out his hair a little like a dog, then sat at the farthest corner booth with a clear view of the door and the street beyond. He didn't open a laptop. Didn't pull out a phone. Just... sat. Drinking slowly. Watching. Waiting.
That was two months ago.
He'd been coming ever since, never missing a single Monday, Wednesday, or Friday. Always at 8:07.
And Elara, despite her better judgment, had started waiting for him.
Not in the obvious way. Not the way Sophie, her co-worker, teased her about with winks and lip-biting gestures. Elara just... noticed things. The way his fingers trembled ever so slightly when he reached for the cup. The faded scar cutting through his right eyebrow. The fact that he never looked at her for more than a second.
But today, he was late.
8:08.
8:09.
She tapped her pen against the counter, glancing at the door like it had betrayed her. Rain again. But no tall figure in a soaked coat. No quiet order for Earl Grey.
Sophie raised an eyebrow from behind the espresso machine. "Maybe the mystery man finally got abducted by aliens."
Elara didn't respond. Instead, she wiped the already-clean counter.
At 8:11, the door chimed.
She turned too fast.
But it wasn't him. Just a delivery guy dropping off croissants.
Something cold twisted in her stomach. Why did it matter? He was a customer. Not a friend. Not even someone whose name she knew.
Still, she pulled out the small black notebook she kept hidden behind the register and added a note under today's date: Absent.
Then she crossed it out. Wrote: Late?
At 8:19, he walked in.
No coat. No umbrella. Just a dark green sweater that somehow made his eyes look like forest moss and secrets.
But something was wrong.
His jaw was tight. His movements less fluid. Like he was fighting something internal.
He approached the counter. Elara forced herself not to smile. "The usual?"
He paused. Then, in a voice lower than usual, said, "Coffee. Black."
She blinked. "Coffee? You don't—"
"Just... coffee. Please."
Her fingers moved before her brain did. She poured the order and handed it over, her eyes scanning his face for clues. "Rough morning?"
He gave her a look that was all sharp edges and unfinished thoughts. "You could say that."
Then he walked to his usual seat.
Elara watched as he sat down, stared into the black surface of the coffee like it might give him answers.
"Well that's new," Sophie muttered. "Maybe the aliens brought him back different."
Elara didn't laugh.
Instead, she pulled out her notebook again. Coffee. No tea. Looked tired. Said 'rough morning.'
She hesitated, then wrote a question mark. Then underlined it.
Hours passed.
Lunch rush came and went.
Still, he sat there. Still with that same cup of coffee, now lukewarm. Still staring. And Elara, no matter how many tables she cleaned or muffins she restocked, kept sneaking glances.
It wasn't until she went to clear the booth next to his that she noticed the paper in his hand.
He wasn't reading it. Just holding it.
The edge was crumpled from how tightly he gripped it.
Without thinking, she said, "That paper gonna confess something, or are you just trying to squeeze the ink out of it?"
His lips twitched. A hint of that almost-smile.
Then, very slowly, he turned the paper around and slid it across the table.
Elara froze.
It was a missing person flyer.
The photo showed a woman with soft eyes and a wide, crooked smile. The headline screamed in bold: HAVE YOU SEEN HER?
He said quietly, "My sister. She's been missing three days."
Something in Elara's chest pinched.
"I'm sorry," she said, but the words felt too small.
He nodded, then looked out the window like the rain might wash away the guilt etched into his face.
She wanted to ask more, but his expression closed like a slammed door.
So she just stood there, holding the empty plate in her hands like a shield.
"If you remember anything weird," he said suddenly, "anyone strange... Can you let me know?"
She nodded. "Of course."
He looked at her then—really looked. Like he was trying to decide something. Trust her. Or not.
And then he said, "I'm Rhys."
She blinked. It was the first time he'd offered a name.
"Elara."
He gave that not-quite-smile again. "I know."
Then he stood and left.
Leaving behind the coffee.
And the flyer.
Outside, the rain had stopped. But Elara barely noticed.
She was still holding the flyer. Still staring at the woman's face.
She didn't know why, but something about the eyes looked... familiar.
Like she'd seen them before.
In a dream.
Or a nightmare.
She folded the flyer and slipped it under the register. For now.
The rest of her shift passed in a fog. She fumbled orders. Forgot names. Poured tea into someone's coffee. Sophie teased her, but Elara barely registered it.
When the clock hit 4:00 p.m., she grabbed her coat and stepped into the wind. The city had that washed-clean scent, like everything had been wiped down and reset, but the air still felt heavy with something unsaid.
She walked three blocks before stopping at a crosswalk—and that's when she saw it.
A poster.
Another missing person.
But not Rhys's sister.
A different woman. Same crooked smile.
Same eyes.
Elara's skin went cold. She reached for the flyer Rhys had left, still folded in her coat pocket, and held it up.
The resemblance was uncanny.
And yet the names were different.
Different cities. Different dates.
She looked around.
Someone was watching her. She could feel it.
But when she turned, the street was empty.
Only the wind moved.
And for the first time in a long while, Elara felt afraid.
She picked up her pace, suddenly eager to be around people again. The sidewalk no longer felt neutral; every shadow seemed to stretch too far, every passerby a little too fast to look away.
That night, she couldn't sleep.
She tried everything—music, tea, staring at the ceiling and pretending she wasn't counting the hours.
And then at 2:37 a.m., her phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
One message:
"You shouldn't have taken the flyer."
Her blood ran cold.
No name. No context.
Just dread.
She sat upright, heart pounding like thunder.
The message disappeared.
Gone. Like it had never existed.
She stared at her screen until the sun began to rise.
And even then, she didn't feel safe.