The barista drew a heart in my coffee foam, the way she did every Tuesday. I smiled and left my usual tip. She smiled back.

This went on for six months.

I practiced conversations in my head while walking to the café. I imagined telling her about the book I was reading, asking about the tattoo on her wrist, learning her actual name instead of just reading "Mia" on her name tag. But when I reached the counter, I only ever said "Latte, please" and "Thank you."

One Tuesday, a different person stood behind the espresso machine.

"Where's Mia?" I asked.

"She moved back to Portugal last week," he said, already reaching for a cup. "Latte?"

I nodded.

He made it efficiently, no heart, no smile I recognized. I paid and sat by the window, staring at the generic foam.

My phone buzzed. A friend asking if I wanted to grab drinks that evening. I typed "Can't tonight" then stopped. I deleted it and wrote "Yes, what time?" instead.

The coffee tasted exactly the same as always. That was the problem. I'd been drinking the same coffee, walking the same route, having the same one-sided relationship with a stranger who drew hearts in foam. Mia probably never thought about me after her shifts ended. Why would she? I never gave her anything real to remember.

I looked at the new barista. He was young, maybe twenty, with headphones around his neck and tired eyes.

"Long shift?" I asked.

He glanced up, surprised. "Just started, actually. But yeah, it's going to be."

"First day?"

"Second week." He wiped down the counter. "Still learning everyone's orders."

"I'm easy," I said. "Just a latte."

"No modifications?"

"No modifications."

He smiled slightly. "You're literally my favorite type of customer."

We both laughed. It was a small sound in the busy café, but it was real.

I gathered my things and stood to leave.

"See you next week," I said.

"See you," he replied.

This time, I meant it.

Outside, the street looked exactly as it had every other Tuesday—same buildings, same light, same people rushing past. But I walked differently. Slower. Paying attention.

My phone buzzed again. My friend, sharing the address for tonight.

I replied with a thumbs up and kept walking.

#flashfiction #Barcelona #connection #change