"Sage. Can you take over the counter for me, please?" Beth asked, and I quickly nodded, setting off for the register.

"Small or medium?" I asked, with a monotonous manner a short young girl, who I assumed was a student just like her friends who stood beside her, impatiently waiting to place their orders.

"A medium, please. I need a lot of caffeine these days." She smiled brightly at me, looking straight into my eyes. I pulled up the corners of my lips to indicate a smile for a quarter of a second but focused back on the screen to purposefully show disinterest.

Meeting someone in the coffee shop was one of the romance cliches in the student community. Sadly, once in a while, an individual like that appeared and started showing up regularly. It wouldn't be considered strange if their eyes were directed elsewhere but at me; or one of my coworkers. Believing that we couldn't notice; Trust me, it was very obvious. It made me wary of any attempt at flirting with me.

Some may be flattered by this, but I found this type of behaviour bizarre and creepy. I didn't know these people, and I wished they would talk to me and ask me out so I could reject them, and we could all move on.

"Medium cappuccino, please." I heard a smooth voice say.

"Sure, that's two-eighty." I pointed to the card machine, and the young man gently brought his phone to pay. I always noticed him when he walked into the store. Short dark brown hair with rather soft-looking features and a friendly smile, the type that blends in with the crowd. Handsome, but not in the conventional way that fits the pattern.

He was attractive enough for me to notice him. His manners and aura drew my attention whenever he entered the shop. There wasn't any other client who was able to keep me captive for that long.

He had regularly visited this store for over a year now. Occasionally, there were breaks for holidays, or sometimes I wondered why he was absent. Although, I never asked for an explanation or implied a wish to have a conversation with him.

It was a strange feeling. I knew that guy, but I didn't. I would say that I knew about this man. I knew that he always ordered a cappuccino. Or that he sometimes had dark bags under his eyes and hair that was longer than usual. From time to time, I could see the sadness in his eyes. These days were usually quickly replaced by the normal ones or those when he would be extremely cheerful.

I knew enough about him to recognise his mood the moment I laid eyes on him. Strange as it may seem, I felt that a lot of people who worked in services were the same. You just knew your regulars. I also knew that he was familiar with most of the people who worked in the shop. One morning, as I was walking to my lecture, we passed each other in the university park, and he smiled at me. It surprised me, but when I looked at it later, he couldn't have treated me like a ghost. It was a polite gesture, and so was he.

I handed him his coffee, and he took a spot in the corner with fewer people disturbing his movie break. He did that often while waiting for the lecturers.

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 on. I didn't know anything about him for a long time, except that he was a regular visitor to my shop.

 I didn't like working there, but the money was good, and the time passed quickly because I was so busy, and I liked that.

It was a regular cafe. Wooden bar. Wooden tables with black chairs. A bright interior and a few photos of landscapes hung on beige walls. Pretty potted flowers were placed near large windows overlooking the square. Completing the ordinary looking shop. Both floors had nothing but a light marble floor.

We were placed in the centre of the Old Town. It was the beautiful city's heart.

The neighbourhood was crowded, and so was the university. It was good for business; There were rare times when the store had no walk-ins for more than ten minutes. We had an extra floor where students could study or work on their assignments. It was peaceful and quiet up there.

Downstairs, however, the majority of our customers were chatting with friends or taking time between lectures. We had all sorts of profiles, from tourists to people working in the area, and a large mass of teenagers and students. Easy to imagine that it was loud.

"Hi, I ordered a latte, but this is cappuccino." One of the girls ordering her drink earlier came to the counter with a frown written on her face.

"Oh, sorry about that. Let me change your drink." I took the cup from her, discovering it was half empty. I looked up, and she smiled at me. I couldn't point out whether she was embarrassed or aware of the absurdity of this situation. Judging by the emptiness of the cup, she definitely didn't hate her latte. But to stay professional, I made no comment, turned my back on her, and walked closer to Beth, who was operating the machine.

"Hi, can you make a cappuccino for that lady as she didn't like her latte apparently," I whispered to Beth while showing her half-empty cup before I threw it into the bins. She raised an eyebrow at me before she chuckled to herself.

I noticed a few clients waiting in the queue, so I asked the girl to move to the side before I started taking more orders. Time passed quickly after that, and I headed straight home, even though my friends texted me and asked me to come to one of the bars nearby. I ignored them, pretending I hadn't seen the message, content to send an apology from my bed.