It was a quiet Tuesday morning.
Daniel was sitting at his desk, working on his laptop. His cat, Biscuit, was sleeping on the windowsill. The sun was warm. The apartment was still.
Then his phone buzzed.
He picked it up and read the message.
“Hi Daniel! It’s Anna — from the market. Do you want to get coffee sometime? I found a nice little café near our building. — Anna 📷”
Daniel smiled. He remembered Anna. She was the woman with the camera. The one who bought the last bag of his favourite coffee beans right before him.
He typed back: “Sure! When?”
She replied in ten seconds. “Tomorrow morning? Ten o’clock?”
“Perfect,” he wrote.
Biscuit opened one eye, then closed it again.
The next morning, Daniel put on his jacket and walked downstairs.
The café was just two streets away. It was small and warm inside. There were wooden tables, green plants on the shelves, and the smell of fresh coffee everywhere.
Anna was already there.
She was sitting near the window with her camera bag on the chair beside her. She waved when she saw him.
“You found it,” she said.
“It wasn’t hard,” Daniel said, smiling. “It’s a nice place.”
“I come here a lot,” Anna said. “The oat milk latte is very good.”
Daniel looked at the menu on the wall. He ordered a black coffee. Anna ordered her latte. They sat down together.
For a moment, it felt a little quiet. A little awkward. The way it always feels when two people are still getting to know each other.
Then Anna said, “So — you work from home?”
“Yes,” Daniel said. “I’m a software developer. My office is my kitchen table.”
Anna laughed. “That sounds nice. And a little lonely.”
“Sometimes,” Daniel admitted. “But I have Biscuit.”
“Biscuit?”
“My cat.”
“Oh! What does Biscuit look like?”
Daniel took out his phone and showed her a photo. Biscuit was sitting in a box that was much too small for him, looking very serious.
Anna laughed again. It was a warm laugh. Easy and real.
“He looks like he is very important,” she said.
“He thinks he is,” Daniel said.
The coffee arrived. It was hot and good. Outside the window, people were walking by with coats and bags.
A child was running ahead of his mother. A dog stopped to smell a flower pot.
“Do you like this neighbourhood?” Anna asked.
“Very much,” Daniel said. “I moved here three years ago. It was the right choice.”
“Me too,” Anna said. “I grew up far from here. A small town. Very quiet.” She looked out the window. “I like the city more. There are more stories here.”
“Stories?”
She smiled. “I’m a photographer. I look for stories. A face. A shadow. A moment.” She touched her camera bag. “Every photo is a little story.”
Daniel thought about that. He liked it.
“Where did you grow up?” he asked.
“A small town called Maplewood,” Anna said. “About two hours from here. Very green. Very slow.” She smiled softly. “Nice, but small.”
Daniel stopped.
He put down his coffee cup.
“Maplewood?” he said.
Anna looked at him. “Yes. Why?”
“I grew up in Maplewood,” Daniel said.
Anna stared at him.
“You’re joking,” she said.
“I’m not,” Daniel said. “I lived there until I was six. Then my family moved here.”
Anna was quiet for a moment. Her eyes were wide.
“Which street?” she asked.
“Elm Street,” Daniel said. “Near the park. There was a little yellow house.”
Anna put her hand over her mouth.
“I know that house,” she whispered. “I used to walk past it every day.”
They looked at each other.
“Did you go to Maplewood Kindergarten?” Anna asked slowly.
Daniel felt something strange. A small door opening in his memory.
“Yes,” he said. “The one with the big red door.”
“And the sandpit,” Anna said quietly. “And the apple tree in the garden.”
“Yes,” Daniel said. “The apple tree.”
They were both silent.
Outside, a bicycle bell rang. Someone laughed on the street. The coffee machine made a soft sound.
Then Anna said, “There was a boy in my class. He was very quiet. He always drew pictures of cats.”
Daniel looked at her.
“There was a girl,” he said slowly. “She had short hair. She always looked at everything like she was taking a picture.”
Anna’s eyes went bright.
“That was me,” she whispered.
“That was me,” Daniel said, at the same moment.
They both started laughing.
It was the kind of laughter that comes when something is too wonderful to believe. When life does something surprising and kind.
“We were in the same class,” Anna said. “We were five years old.”
“And now we live in the same building,” Daniel said.
“And we almost didn’t get coffee,” Anna said, shaking her head.
“Because of the coffee beans,” Daniel said.
“Because of the coffee beans,” Anna repeated.
They laughed again.
They stayed in the café for a long time that morning.
They talked about Maplewood. About the kindergarten teacher who always wore yellow.
About the sandpit where they used to build things.
About the apple tree that was maybe still standing.
Daniel didn’t think about his work. Anna didn’t think about her photos.
They just talked. Like two people who had known each other a long time — because, in a way, they had.
When they finally left the café, the street was bright and busy.
“Same time next week?” Anna asked at the door.
“Same time next week,” Daniel said.
They walked home together, side by side, two neighbours who were once two small children, sitting under the same apple tree, in a little town far away.
And now, it’s time for you to rest.
Close your eyes. Let the day go.
Maybe somewhere, right now, someone is remembering something small — a door, a tree, a face — and feeling a little less alone.
Sleep well.
Good night.