I didn’t mean to notice.

It’s not like I ever planned on paying attention to the sound of his voice. But now that I have, I can’t seem to forget it.

It’s soft, steady—not particularly loud, yet impossible to ignore. The kind of voice that lingers in the back of your mind, even after you’ve walked away.

And I do walk away. Every time.

But today, as I sit at my usual table, half-listening to the murmurs of the café, I realize I’m not really hearing any of it. Just him. The way he speaks to customers, the way his voice shifts ever so slightly when he’s tired, when he’s amused, when he thinks no one is paying attention.

I let out a quiet breath, tapping my pen against the notepad in front of me.

Then, without thinking, I write.

"Your voice stays with me—soft, steady, yet impossible to ignore. Makes me wonder what else I don’t know about you."

- J

My pulse kicks up as I peel the post-it from the pad, pressing it down beside my empty cup.

I should stop this. Stop leaving these notes, stop waiting for something I can’t even name.

But instead, I stand, grab my coat, and walk out like I always do.

And this time, as the door swings shut behind me, I can’t help but wonder—

If I ever heard him say my name, would I be able to forget that too?