An Unexpected Return
I didn't plan to return to Marigold's. Or at least, that's what I told myself. Life was busy enough without indulging in daydreams about strangers in cafés. And yet, less than a week after that rainy afternoon, I found myself standing outside its glass doors once more.
The day was brighter this time, a soft spring sunlight filtering through the clouds. The air smelled of blooming lilacs and damp stone. I could have gone anywhere—a dozen cafés dotted the streets between my flat and the office—but something in me longed for the warmth I had felt that day, the unexpected lightness Daniel had left behind.
Inside, Marigold's was just as I remembered: golden light spilling across wooden floors, the faint hum of chatter, the comforting aroma of coffee beans and vanilla. I ordered my drink and scanned the room, telling myself it didn't matter whether he was there.
But he was.
Sitting in the same spot by the window, notebook open, pen poised. When his eyes lifted and found mine, something passed between us—recognition, relief, perhaps even joy. He smiled, that same quiet smile that had unsettled and comforted me all at once.
"You came back," he said as I approached.
I shrugged, feigning casualness though my pulse betrayed me. "Maybe fate again."
He gestured to the chair across from him, as if it had been waiting for me all along.
Small Talk, Big Meaning
We began with small talk—the weather, work, the bustle of the city outside. But soon our words drifted into the kind of conversations that peeled back layers, like uncovering hidden rooms in a familiar house.
"Why publishing?" Daniel asked, his gaze steady.
I hesitated. "Because books saved me, I think. When I was younger, they gave me places to escape. And when I grew older, they gave me pieces of myself I didn't know were missing."
He nodded thoughtfully. "So now you help shape other people's escapes."
"I suppose," I said with a laugh. "And you? Why the notebook?"
He glanced down at the pages, running a hand across the ink-stained lines. "Because words are safer here than anywhere else. They don't interrupt. They don't walk away."
His tone was light, but I heard the weight beneath it. Something in me wanted to reach across the table, to ask what stories had made him feel abandoned. But I didn't. Not yet.
Instead, I asked, "Do you ever share them? Your words?"
"Sometimes," he admitted. "But most of them are for me. Or for no one."
There was an ache in his honesty, one that mirrored the loneliness I carried in my own heart.
Breaking the Walls
The more we talked, the less the world around us seemed to exist. I learned that Daniel was thirty-one, that he worked as a freelance photographer, capturing fleeting moments of strangers' lives. He spoke of travel, of nights spent in cities where he knew no one, of the silence that followed him from place to place.
I told him about my childhood, about a home filled with love but also expectations that weighed heavily on my shoulders. About my failed relationships, the doubts that sometimes crept into my chest late at night.
"Maybe that's why I like editing," I confessed. "I can fix other people's words. But when it comes to my own life, I'm not sure where to begin."
Daniel studied me, his expression soft but unyielding. "Maybe you don't need fixing. Maybe you just need someone to read your story without trying to change it."
The words pierced me in a way I hadn't expected. I swallowed hard, blinking against the sudden sting of tears. He didn't look away.
A Moment in the Rain
Hours passed unnoticed. By the time we finally left Marigold's, the sky had darkened, the clouds heavy once more. We stepped onto the street together just as rain began to fall—soft at first, then insistent.
Daniel opened his umbrella, holding it out to cover us both. The world shrank to the rhythm of raindrops drumming against the fabric above, the warmth of his shoulder brushing mine.
"Funny, isn't it?" I said, tilting my head toward the gray sky. "It seems the rain always finds us."
He looked at me, his eyes crinkling in quiet amusement. "Maybe it's not the rain finding us. Maybe it's us finding each other."
The words settled deep in my chest, echoing long after the silence returned. For the first time in years, I didn't feel alone beneath the rain.