I told myself three things as I walked to Greystone that Thursday.
One: this was my routine, not his.
Two: if he was there, I did not have to talk to him.
Three: I was not curious. I only wanted coffee.
By the time I opened the door, I almost believed all three.
He was already there.
Same table as Tuesday. Same coffee, not touched. Same quiet way of sitting that made the rest of the café feel a little too loud.
He did not look up when I walked in. But the chair in front of him, the one I left on Tuesday, had nothing on it. No bag. No jacket like people use to save a seat without saying it.
It was just… empty.
Waiting.
Don't, I told myself.
I still sat down.
"You came back," he said. He did not look up.
"I told you. Tuesdays and Thursdays." I took out my laptop, trying to look confident. "You are the one who changes, not me."
"Fair." He turned a page in his book. I could not see the title. "How was your Wednesday?"
"Fine."
There was a short silence. Then I asked, "Why?"
"You look like you did not sleep well."
I looked at him. "I slept fine."
He looked up for a moment. Quick. Like he was checking something. "Okay."
Then he looked back down.
I did not like that "okay." It meant he did not believe me, but he did not want to argue. My mother says "okay" like that too. It feels like she already knows the truth.
The truth was, I did not sleep well. I was awake until 2 a.m. working. But my makeup covered it. I sat straight.
So there was nothing to see.
Right?
We worked in silence for twenty minutes. It should have felt strange. But it did not. And that made me more uncomfortable.
Maya brought my latte without asking me.
She saw my face and pointed at Adrian.
"He ordered it when he came," she said as she walked away. "He said you would want it at eleven."
I looked at him.
He did not look up.
"I always come at eleven," I said slowly. "You could guess that."
"I did," he said.
"And the oat milk?"
He paused. Just a little.
"Lucky guess."
Maybe it was. Many people drink oat milk now. It is common. Nothing strange.
I told myself that again and again, like checking a door lock twice. Not because you think it is open, but because something makes you unsure.
I opened my work and stared at the same line for four minutes.
Lucky guess.
But Adrian did not feel like someone who guessed.
"What do you do?" I asked. I was a little curious. Also, it felt like a game I did not understand.
"Consulting."
"For what?"
"For companies that have problems they cannot see clearly." He did not look up. "I help them see."
"That is not clear."
"Yes," he said calmly.
"Is that on purpose?"
Now he looked up. Fully. Like before. Like a light that is either off or very bright.
"Most things I do are on purpose," he said.
Then he looked back at his book.
I should have stopped.
But I did not.
"How long have you been coming here?"
A short pause.
"A while," he said.
"I have never seen you before Tuesday."
"You were not looking."
He said it softly. Not rude. Not joking. Just like a fact.
And maybe he was right. I follow my routine. Head down. Earphones in. I go to my usual table. The café could be full of people, even ghosts, and I would not notice.
Still, something felt wrong. Like a picture on a wall that looks straight, but is not. You cannot prove it, but it bothers you every time you see it.
I was about to leave when it happened.
The moment I could not explain.
I reached for my phone. Then he spoke, calm and easy:
"Tell your sister I said happy birthday."
I stopped.
Slowly, I looked at him.
"What?"
"Your phone." He nodded. The screen had just lit up. "She sent a message."
I looked down. I only saw her name, Lena, and the first word:
Hey—
Nothing about a birthday. No cake emoji. Nothing.
But today was my sister's birthday.
And my phone did not show that.
I looked at him again.
He was already reading his book. Turning a page. Calm.
"I did not tell you her name," I said quietly.
"You said it on Tuesday."
"I did not."
I was sure. I did not talk much that day. I remembered everything I said. I did not talk about my sister.
He turned another page.
"Maybe I remembered wrong," he said.
He did not say sorry. He did not look up. He did not act nervous.
He just turned the page.
Like the conversation was finished.
Like he already knew how I would react and was just waiting.
I left without saying goodbye.
Outside, the cold air hit my face. I stood there for a moment, holding my phone. My heart felt unsteady.
I opened Lena's message.
Hey, I just wanted to say hi before my birthday dinner tonight. You are still coming, right?
Birthday dinner. Tonight.
I never told him that. Not on Tuesday. Not ever. Not to a stranger in a café where I had never seen him before.
I stood there until my fingers felt cold.
Then I replied:
Of course. See you tonight.
But I did not write what I was really thinking.
Which was:
How does he know your name?