"Sage, can you take over the counter for me, please?" Beth asked. I nodded quickly and headed to the register.

"Small or medium?" I asked in a monotonous tone, addressing a short young girl. I assumed she was a student, just like the friends standing beside her, impatiently waiting to place their orders.

"A medium, please. I need a lot of caffeine these days," she said with a bright smile, looking straight into my eyes.

I pulled up the corners of my lips in a brief, quarter-second smile before focusing back on the screen, purposefully showing disinterest.

Meeting someone in a coffee shop was one of those overused romance cliches in the student community. Unfortunately, every now and then, some individual would start showing up regularly, making it obvious that their interest wasn't just in the coffee. It wouldn't be strange if their attention was directed elsewhere like their books, their phone, or even one of my coworkers. But no. Some of them thought we wouldn't notice. Trust me, it was obvious.

Some might find this flattering. I found it bizarre and slightly creepy. I didn't know these people, and honestly, I wished they would just talk to me and ask me out, so I could reject them and we could all move on.

"Medium cappuccino, please," a smooth voice said.

"Sure, that's 4.80." I pointed to the card machine, and the young man gently brought his phone to pay.

I always noticed him when he walked in. Short dark brown hair, soft-looking features, and a friendly smile—the type that blended in with the crowd. Handsome, but not in a conventional way. He was attractive enough for me to take note of him, but it wasn't just his looks. His manners, his aura—something about him caught my attention whenever he entered the shop.

He had been a regular here for over a year. Occasionally, he took breaks—holidays, I assumed. Sometimes, I wondered why he was absent, though I never asked for an explanation or implied any desire to converse with him.

It was a strange feeling. I knew him, but I didn't. More accurately, I knew about him. I knew he always ordered a cappuccino. That sometimes, he had dark circles under his eyes and slightly longer hair than usual. That, from time to time, there was a certain sadness in his gaze, though those days were quickly replaced by normal ones or, occasionally, days when he was particularly cheerful.

I knew enough to recognize his mood the moment he walked in. It might seem odd, but I suspected many people working in service roles had the same instinct. You just knew your regulars.

I also knew he was familiar with most of the staff. One morning, as I was heading to my lecture, we passed each other in the university park. He smiled at me. It had surprised me at the time, but in hindsight, it was just a polite gesture. And he was polite.

I handed him his coffee, and he took his usual spot in the quieter corner, where fewer people would disturb his movie break. He did that often while waiting between lectures.

I did that too, but never in a café. It was enough that I worked in one.

I never learned his name. I didn't know what course he was studying. I didn't know much about him at all—except that he was a regular.

I didn't like working here, but the money was good, and the busy shifts made the time pass quickly. And I liked that.

The café itself was nothing special. A wooden bar, wooden tables with black chairs, bright lighting, and a few landscape photos hanging on beige walls. Potted flowers by the large windows overlooked the square. An ordinary-looking shop, really. The floor was light marble, and both levels of the café had the same simple design.

We were in the heart of the Old Town with a beautiful, lively area.

The neighborhood was always crowded, and so was the university. Good for business. There were rarely moments when the store had no walk-ins for more than ten minutes. We had an extra floor where students could study or work on assignments in peace. Upstairs was quiet.

Downstairs, though? Chaos. People chatted with friends, took breaks between lectures, or just passed the time. Our customers were a mix of tourists, professionals working nearby, and, of course, a flood of students and teenagers. It was always loud.

"Hi, I ordered a latte, but this is a cappuccino," one of the girls from earlier approached the counter, frowning.

"Oh, sorry about that. Let me change your drink."

I took the cup from her, noting that it was already half empty. When I looked up, she gave me a sheepish smile. I couldn't tell if she was embarrassed or if she was fully aware of how absurd this was. Judging by the emptiness of the cup, she clearly hadn't hated her cappuccino.

Still, I kept my expression neutral. Professional. Without comment, I turned and walked over to Beth, who was operating the coffee machine.

"Hey, can you make latte for that lady? Apparently, she didn't like her cappuccino," I whispered, holding up the half-empty cup before tossing it into the bin.

Beth raised an eyebrow at me before chuckling to herself.

I glanced at the queue forming behind the girl and asked her to move to the side before taking more orders.

Time passed quickly after that. When my shift ended, my friends texted, asking me to join them at a nearby bar.

I ignored the message, pretending I hadn't seen it. I'd send an apology later, from the comfort of my bed.