#waiting

The woman in the blue coat always ordered the same thing: cortado, no sugar, one glass of water. She sat at the corner table with a book she never seemed to finish—always page forty-three, always

The Waves

.

The café was closing, but the woman at table six hadn't moved in an hour. She sat with her hands wrapped around a cold cup of cortado, staring at the empty chair across from her.

"We're closing," I said, gentler than usual.

She looked up. Her eyes were red. "I'm waiting for someone."