I’m surprised the waitress never asked me why I ordered for two. The same every time, a cappuccino and a weak black tea.
The tea was never touched, but I savoured every drop of the coffee as I mulled over the events of the last few months.
Table 19 at the little cafe with the blue door. It had been our favourite, but things were different now. I was different now.
So I would sit, staring out the window watching the people pass by, getting on with their lives while wondering if mine was ever going to be the same again as I sat waiting for someone who I knew was never going to arrive.
Written for Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers weekly challenge. Click on the link for all the information you need. Give it a try, it’s a good brain workout!