She sat there in front of me, a latte on the side. She didn’t want to look me in the eyes.
She sipped her coffee quietly, looking outside the window. Something was troubling her mind, I could see that. She looked around, to the left, and to the right, and suddenly, her face changed. She remembered something, something unpleasant, I suppose.
And she wiped a tear under her right eye.
She kept on looking out of the window, deep in thought, and was surprised when the waitress brought her ordered sandwich to the table.
She forced a smile, and said an inaudible thank you. She began to eat her sandwich, quietly, still with a sad look, a downcast eye, and a deep thought.
What was it?
She was dressed in blue jeans, black t-shirt, and three-quarter long black shirt. By the look of it, she was in her early 30s. It was Tuesday noon, a rainy Tuesday afternoon.
Despite the usual trend, she didn’t even take out her mobile phone. Guess she was not one of the tech-savvy crowd who didn’t want to look alone.
I wonder what was it about her that drew my attention. I used to eat alone, to drink coffee alone, and yet it seemed like we were two very different people. She began to eat her sandwich quietly, letting go a deep breath with every bite, and wiped her jeans off the bread crumbles.
Right after she finished the last bite, she got up, still munching, took her bag, and walked away.
And the seat in front of me was empty, once again.
And two minutes later, another lady in her 30s, wearing a black jacket and blue jeans, sat down on the very exact spot.
I guess, life goes on.
In three words I can sum up everything I’ve learned about life:
It goes on.