The corner cafe

Today I am sitting in a small café tucked into a quiet corner of the city, one of those places where life feels simpler and far away from all the noise. I wanted a warm chocolate, and I brought a book with me so I could read. When I walked in, only two seats were empty. The café was small and cozy; in every corner sat one person, someone with a newspaper, someone knitting, someone reading, and a father with his little girl.

I spent a few minutes deciding where to sit. In front of me was an old man, maybe in his seventies, who observed everyone who walked through the door. He drank his coffee silently, but his eyes followed people with a depth that felt heavy, eyes that quietly carried loneliness. All of us in this café seemed to be seeking a moment alone with our thoughts and our drinks, yet this man… he made me pause.

I took my coffee and sat down, but I couldn’t stop looking at him. He didn’t speak a word, yet something about him spoke so loudly. A Christmas song played softly in the background, adding to the emotion of the moment. After a while, the old man stood up, took his empty cup, cleaned his table, and walked out. And I can’t stop thinking about him about when loneliness becomes too much, and how older people endure it.

I came here to escape the noise, craving solitude. But maybe he came here for the opposite, to be surrounded by people, by a bit of gentle noise, so he could feel a sense of belonging, a sense of life. He left, and he left me with questions. Maybe someone is waiting for him at home. Maybe he’ll return tomorrow for another coffee and a little more life.

My warm chocolate is cold now.