The Café We Both Chose
二人が選んだカフェ
The rain had been falling for hours when Daniel finally ducked into the small corner café.
He shook the water from his coat, ordered a black coffee, and looked for a table.
It was then that he noticed a woman by the window, half hidden behind a book.
Something about the way she tilted her head made his heart with old .
They had not seen each other for twenty years, yet he knew her at once.
"Clare?" he said, and the name felt strange and familiar in his mouth.
She looked up slowly, and the years seemed to fold quietly between them.
"Daniel," she answered softly, as though she had somehow been expecting him all along.
He asked if he might join her, and she moved her coat from the empty chair.
For a moment neither of them quite knew what a person was supposed to say.
They had been close once, in the careless way that the young so often are.
Then careers, distant cities, and other people had slowly pulled their two lives apart.
Now here they sat, both older and quieter, and somehow far more honest than before.
He noticed that her ring finger was , though a pale line still remained.
She noticed the same on his hand, and neither of them mentioned it.
"I heard you married," she said, stirring her tea without quite meeting his eyes.
"I did," he replied. "It lasted longer than it should have, and then it ended."
"I would rather not go into the details, if that is all right with you."
She nodded, understanding perfectly well, for she carried a heavy silence of her own.
Outside, the rain kept its steady against the fogged and glowing window.
They spoke of small things, of music and buildings and the strange speed of time.
Every so often a longer pause would settle, and neither rushed to fill it.
It surprised him how easily the old returned, yet entirely welcome.
When her cup was empty, she glanced at the clock and gathered up her coat.
"I come here most Thursdays," she said, almost , before stepping toward the door.
He watched her go, and for the first time in years, he wanted next week to hurry.