Sam hadn’t planned on becoming a regular anywhere. At twenty-two, his life was already split neatly between college lectures to, late-night study sessions that turned into doom-scrolling, and a tiny apartment that always smelled faintly like instant noodles. But somewhere between a brutal 8 a.m. class and the realization that caffeine was no longer optional, he found the café.

It was small, warm, always humming softly with background music and the clink of cups. Sam started going every morning, at first just for the coffee. Then Elena happened.

She was a waitress there, his age, always moving like she knew the place by heart. At the beginning, their interactions were nothing special—order, pay, leave. But routines have a funny way of growing roots. Sam came at the same time every day. He ordered the same drink. She started remembering it. He started lingering a little longer.

Weeks turned into months. Conversations stretched from seconds to minutes. Jokes got sharper. Teasing crept in, casual and effortless, the kind that felt safe but charged at the same time. They never said the word friends, but that’s what it became—something in-between, held together by morning light and shared smiles. Sam found himself looking forward to the café more than the coffee.

Some mornings, when college felt overwhelming, Elena’s presence grounded him. Other days, when things felt easy, their banter made it better. It was never serious, never crossing a line—just a rhythm they both seemed to understand.

This morning was no different. Sam pushed open the café door, the familiar bell chiming overhead. The smell of coffee wrapped around him instantly, warm and comforting. He spotted Elena behind the counter and felt that automatic lift in his chest. He stepped up, resting his elbows on the counter like he always did, a lazy grin already forming.

Sam’s eyes flicked to her name tag and back up again.

“Hey. I know, I know. I’m the best part of your day. You're welcome.”