The first time Ethan glanced at the clock, it was accidental. 6:17 PM. The second time was not. 6:43 PM. By the third time, he knew he had a problem. Because he wasn't waiting for a delivery. He wasn't expecting an employee. And he certainly wasn't anticipating a customer. At least that's what he told himself. The evening crowd flowed steadily through Midnight Brew. The familiar sounds filled the café. The hiss of steaming milk. The grinding of coffee beans. Soft jazz drifting through hidden speakers. The occasional laughter of customers. Outside, Abuja moved through another busy evening. Inside, everything remained calm. Yet Ethan found his eyes drifting toward the entrance more often than necessary. The bell above the door chimed. A group of university students entered. Not her. Another ten minutes passed. The bell rang again. A middle-aged couple walked in. Not her. Ethan immediately redirected his attention to the espresso machine. Annoyed with himself. This was ridiculous. He barely knew Adaora. Three evenings. A handful of conversations. That was all. Yet somehow her absence felt noticeable. Like a missing piece in a routine he hadn't realized he was developing. By 7:30 PM her usual table remained empty. The chair beside the window sat untouched. Her chair. The thought slipped into his mind before he could stop it. His gaze lingered there briefly. Then he forced himself back to work. Customers needed attention. Orders needed filling. Life moved on. Still... The chair remained empty. Maybe she found another café. The possibility shouldn't have bothered him. But it did. More than he wanted to admit. Across town, Adaora was having a terrible day. A client had requested last-minute changes to a project she had spent weeks perfecting. Two meetings had run overtime. Her internet had failed halfway through an important presentation. And Abuja traffic had done what Abuja traffic did best. Refuse to move. By the time she glanced at the clock, she nearly groaned. 8:05 PM. Much later than usual. For a moment she considered going straight home. She was exhausted. The sensible thing would be to order food, take a shower, and sleep. Instead, thirty minutes later she found herself parking outside Midnight Brew. The realization made her shake her head. "You're becoming predictable." The words were directed entirely at herself. She grabbed her laptop bag and stepped out. The evening air carried the faint scent of approaching rain. Not enough to storm. Just enough to cool the city. The lights of the café glowed warmly through the windows. As always. For reasons she couldn't explain, the sight eased some of the tension sitting on her shoulders. The bell chimed. Ethan looked up automatically. For one brief second, something flickered across his face. Relief. Gone so quickly it could have been imagined. His expression settled immediately. Professional. Controlled. "Good evening." Adaora found herself unexpectedly pleased that he remembered to greet her the same way every day. "Good evening." "What can I get for you?" "Cappuccino." A tiny pause. Then a nod. "Of course." Of course? Not "coming right up." Not a joke. Not a comment. Yet somehow those two words felt softer. Less distant than before. Adaora moved toward her usual table. Again, the realization struck her. Her usual table. The one beside the window. The one where she could watch people walking outside while pretending to work. The one where she could occasionally glance toward the counter without being obvious about it. She settled into the chair. Opened her laptop. Removed her notebook. And exhaled slowly. A few minutes later her coffee arrived. Placed neatly beside her. The foam art on top caught her attention. A simple leaf. Nothing elaborate. Just enough care to suggest someone had taken their time. Her eyes lifted instinctively. Ethan was already halfway back to the counter. He never looked her way. Not once. Yet somehow she suspected he knew she had noticed. The evening settled into a comfortable rhythm. Customers came and went. The rain finally arrived. A light drizzle tapping softly against the windows. Adaora worked. Actually worked this time. Hours slipped by. Every now and then she glanced around the café. Not because she was looking for Ethan. At least that's what she told herself. But somehow her eyes always landed there. Behind the counter. Moving between customers. Cleaning tables. Preparing drinks. There was something oddly calming about watching him work. No rushing. No unnecessary movements. Everything deliberate. Everything efficient. At one point an elderly customer struggled with a shopping bag. Before anyone else noticed, Ethan was already helping. At another point a young man accidentally knocked over his coffee. Ethan simply cleaned the mess and prepared another drink without charging him. Small things. The kind of things most people overlooked. Adaora found herself noticing every one of them. Around 9:15 PM, her stomach growled. She froze. Mortified. Thankfully nobody seemed to hear. Except... Her gaze drifted upward. Ethan was arranging pastries inside the display case. Without looking in her direction, he placed a fresh plate of small butter cookies near the end of the counter. A few minutes later one of the servers carried the plate around the café. Complimentary samples for customers. By coincidence—or perhaps not—the first plate reached Adaora's table. She stared at the cookies. Then toward the counter. Ethan remained focused on work. Not looking her way. Not acknowledging anything. Still, she couldn't shake the suspicion that it wasn't entirely random. The thought stayed with her for the rest of the evening. Near closing time the crowd thinned. The café grew quieter. Softer. The kind of quiet that only existed late at night. Adaora packed her laptop slowly. Outside, the rain had stopped. Streetlights reflected on wet pavement. She stood. Slipped her bag onto her shoulder. And approached the counter. Not because she had finally gathered the courage to apologize. Not exactly. She simply needed to pay. Ethan glanced up. Their eyes met. Only briefly. "Good night." His voice remained calm. Professional. But not cold. Not anymore. "Good night." For a second she almost said it. I'm sorry about the other day. The words sat on the edge of her tongue. Then a ringing phone interrupted him. Ethan glanced at the screen. Something shifted in his expression. Not enough for anyone else to notice. Enough for Adaora to see. Without answering, he silenced the call immediately. When he looked up again, the moment had passed. And so had her opportunity. Adaora left the café carrying an apology she still hadn't delivered. Inside, Ethan watched the door close behind her. Then his gaze drifted toward the now-empty chair beside the window. A habit he was developing far too quickly. The realization made him shake his head. Tomorrow would be different. He would stop paying attention. Stop wondering when she would arrive. Stop noticing when she left. It was a simple plan. Unfortunately, even he didn't believe it.