The Reason I Never Go to That Café Anymore? Him.

It used to be my favorite spot.

The corner table by the window.

The cinnamon lattes.

The quiet buzz of strangers pretending not to eavesdrop.

I went there for peace.

For space.

For routine.

Then he showed up.

Not in some grand, movie-scene way.

Just… sat at the next table one day.

Smiled at something I said under my breath.

Asked what I was reading.

And that was it.

We were something before we even knew what to call it.

Every Tuesday at noon.

Every glance that lingered a little too long.

Every coffee order that got more familiar than it should’ve.

We didn’t do anything.

Not really.

But the feelings? They were thick in the air — in the way we laughed, paused, leaned in.

I was in a relationship.

So was he.

We both had reasons not to act.

And we didn’t.

But every time I walked into that café, it felt like cheating anyway.

Cheating on my partner.

Cheating on myself.

Cheating reality.

One day, I just stopped going.

I told my friends I found a better spot.

Told myself I was too busy.

But the truth?

He still goes there.

And I couldn’t handle being in a room with so much almost.

So now, every time I pass by that café, I keep walking.

Because the coffee was great.

But the tension was unimaginable.