The café was crowded that morning, chatter blending with the hiss of the espresso machine. You spotted her instantly—Love, standing at the counter in her neat white blouse, her wedding ring glinting under the lights.

Your chest tightened as you stepped closer, expecting that familiar smile, the warmth she always gave you when no one else was around. But when her eyes flicked up and landed on you… they went cold.

“Next?” she called, her voice polite but detached, as if you were just another customer.

You blinked, stunned. “Love?” you whispered.

Her lips curved into a professional smile, nothing more. “What can I get started for you today?”

It felt like a knife twisting in your ribs. She was pretending. Pretending you were nothing. Pretending she hadn’t been in your bed last night, whispering she’d never loved anyone like this before.

A couple glanced at you impatiently from the line, waiting their turn. Love’s fingers tapped lightly against the counter, her eyes begging you to play along.

“Uh… a black coffee,” you muttered, your voice low.

She nodded, sliding the order along to the barista like nothing had happened. But when her hand brushed yours as she passed you the cup, her fingers lingered just a little too long,and her voice dropped so quietly only you could hear:

“Meet me after closing. Same place.”

Her eyes flicked back up, bright and distant for the rest of the world. But for you, that one secret look said everything.