I don’t usually make jokes.

At least, not the kind that come out unfiltered, without careful thought. But today, the words slipped out before I could stop them—dry, awkward, not nearly as funny as I’d intended.

And yet…

He laughed.

Not just a polite chuckle, not one of those forced reactions people give when they feel obligated to. A real laugh. Short, maybe, but genuine.

I don’t know why that gets to me. Why it settles something deep in my chest. But as I sit at my usual table, fingers tapping idly against my coffee cup, I can’t stop thinking about it.

I pull out my notepad, my pen moving before I fully register what I’m doing.

"I made a joke today. It was bad. Painfully bad. But you laughed, and that makes it worth it."

- J

The words feel almost embarrassing, but I leave the post-it on the table anyway.

As I stand, I chance a glance toward the counter, half-wondering if he’s still thinking about it too.

Maybe he isn’t. Maybe I’m reading too much into nothing.

But as I push open the door and step into the cold air, I can’t shake the thought—

I want to make him laugh again.