I was in front of the same narrow entrance, I stopped by the last couple of days as well, hidden between the old buildings, its stone frame covered in moss and thin vines that had crept a little further each time I came back. I knew it by now, the slight dip in the ground, the way the walls closed in just enough to muffle the city behind you. It never looked inviting, not really. If anything, it still gave off the impression of something overlooked, something that, by common sense, shouldn't have been standing there any more, for time has already outworn it.
But to me, it had already stopped feeling unfamiliar, as at that point, I had been there a handful of times.
Before I could even think about it, I was already walking through the arch, stepping into the small courtyard of the café.
There a single tree stood, tall and wide, its burgundy leaves, that had a faint yellow texture on them, and its branches were stretching out above the courtyard as if it had always been there. Long before the buildings, long before the café itself. Its leaves, were starting to fall in layers across the stone, covering the ground like an even foliage.
The old man was outside, slowly brushing the fallen leaves away from the entrance.
As I approached, he didn't react the way he usually did. No faint grin pulling at the creases of his skin, no quiet humming under his breath. Some the small signs that he had noticed me, that he was glad someone had come.
At that moment, it didn't strike me as odd. I simply passed by and gave him a small nod.
But looking at him more closely, his movements lacked their usual rhythm, slower, uneven… as if his mind was somewhere else entirely.
He didn't return the nod.
For a brief second, I thought he hadn't noticed me, but no, his eyes had clearly met mine. There was just no response. No acknowledgment. Only that same still expression, his face drawn long as if weighed down by gravity itself, with shadows resting under his eyes.
For the brief second I looked into his eyes, I realized the light in them was gone.
I looked into a vast empty space in that split second, and the void starred back at me. Not sadness. Nor was it anger. Simply nothing. A kind of indifference I knew all too well, for me no to be able to recognize. One that made it seem to matter to him whether he was here or not.
Even his movements weren't quite the same. The rhythm he usually had when cleaning the entrance was gone. Instead, there was only this lifeless attempt of brushing the leaves aside, slow and uneven, as if he were only going through the motions.
I didn't dwell on it. I simply didn't care much for other people.
As always, I simply observed the small peculiarities in people, trying, in my own way, to understand what it is that makes a human.
Instead, I pushed the door open and stepped inside. The bell rang softly above me.
cling clang
Inside, not much had changed at first glance.
The same three regulars sat at their usual places, like they always did. One by the corner, hunched over a newspaper. Another near the counter, quietly stirring a cup of what it seemed to be tea. The third by the wall, staring out into nothing in particular.
No one spoke.
No one looked up either. They were simply minding their own business.
Exactly what I expected.
So I went to my usual seat, the one near the large window, two tables from the entrance. From there, I could see the tree through the old glass, its surface slightly tinted and uneven, distorting the outside world ever so slightly.
I sat down.
And only then did I notice what was missing. The old woman.
She wasn't there to greet the customers.
No soft footsteps behind the counter, nor any clattering of the tiny plates she uses to place the cakes on.
The old man came in a moment later and moved behind the counter without saying a word. No greeting. Not even a glance in my direction. He prepared the coffee the same way he always did, but faster than usually.
When he placed it in front of me, I gave a small nod in thanks, half-expecting him to follow it up with one of his usual remarks about the beans, the grind, or whatever detail about the beans had caught his attention that day. But nothing came.
No response.
So I took a sip.
It tasted fine. Like coffee should.
The kind you'd make at work, without thinking. Without care.
Not the kind you expect from someone who claims to love every detail of it.
It was slightly more bitter. Less flavorful. Like something small, but important, was missing.
I looked around, wondering if the three other customers were also having the same stance towards their beverage, if something about them made it seem like they were unhappy with it.
The man sitting by the counter hadn't touched his tea in a while. His fingers rested against the cup, bare, as if they were testing the warmth, but no steam rose from it anymore. It had long gone cold.
Further back, near the wall, another man sat with his coffee, slowly stirring it. Again and again, the spoon traced the same quiet circle, long after the sugar should have dissolved. He never brought it to his lips. Just kept stirring, as if he didn't quite want to drink it.
The regulars remained as they were, unmoving, undisturbed, as if nothing had changed at all. As if this strange shift in the air was something they were already used to. Something they had accepted to simply ignore, partake in and abide to without further questioning it.
And I was the only one who didn't understand.
The only one unable to grasp what was happening in that unspoken silence, that empty kind of noise people tend to call reading the room.
What is it that people try to say… by not saying anything at all?
It was one of the many things I lacked. One of the many ways I fell short—compared to others, compared to what it seemed to mean to be human.
And slowly, a thought began to take shape.
Not about the room.
But rather about me.
Perhaps this had never been something for me to understand in the first place. Perhaps I had only convinced myself that I did indeed belong in moments like these, when in truth, I had always been standing just outside of them.
And perhaps this café was just a place where I could sit dissecting every interaction, searching for proof that I am seen, that I matter, even here, in this small, forgotten space.
I simply had just chosen to overlook this foolishness of mine.
It wasn't the place that was wrong.
It was me.
But no matter how much I resisted, this feeling of alienation and isolation kept growing. Spreading, finding its way into every corner of my mind, as if it were taking root deep within it. And with it a faint shiver ran down my spine and throughout my body. Not the kind you get when walking the streets at night and you see something moving in the bushes.
No, not that. Not fear. It was something else.
That feeling of disgust that makes your skin crawl without reason.
The urge to disappear.
Looking back, it feels almost absurd how something so small could grow into something so heavy. A simple interaction. A person having a bad day, not acting the way they usually would. To most that meant nothing.
And yet, to someone like me, anxious and alone, it became everything.
Sometimes people like us, the kind that agonize every single silly decision, absorb even the smallest things and let them take root. It may be a wrong look, a silent moment that felt a little to long or even a word that was misinterpreted, and slowly it begins to grow, twisting and spiraling into something that was never meant to exist. For some, it becomes the starting point of a quiet, self-inflicted torment.
It happens because people tend to fill silence with meaning. They try to search for answers where there are none, for there was never a question to begin with.
The truth is much simpler than that.
There is nothing behind it. There never was. People more often than not don't even take you into consideration. They have their own problems. Their own battles.
But when you're lost in your very own thoughts, that truth feels far away.
And before you realize it, something that meant nothing at all has already pulled you into your own misery, as though you were the center of it all.
That is the curse of overthinking.
See for yourself.