Mornings were the most beautiful part of the day for her. Before the world had a chance to wake up, she was already standing in the kitchen with a cup of warm coffee, listening to the soft hum of the espresso machine. She loved that brief moment when everything still felt possible — as if an invisible promise of something good was hanging between night and day.
That morning she was waiting for a guest — someone she had known for a long time, but only recently had she begun to feel something more, something pleasant and warm like spring sunlight. He was supposed to stop by on his way to work, supposedly just for coffee, supposedly just for a moment. But they both knew these meetings were starting to mean more.
When he knocked, her heart sped up. She let him into the kitchen, where the smell of coffee blended with the scent of the fresh morning. He smiled gently, a little unsure — as if he too sensed that something was growing between them, something they couldn’t quite name yet.
They talked for a long time about ordinary things — the weather, work, plans for the coming week — but beneath every word, something deeper flickered. His gaze lingered on her a moment too long, and her hands trembled slightly when she passed him the cup.
When he was leaving, he paused in the doorway.
“Can I come by tomorrow too?” he asked, as if he were asking for something far more meaningful than a morning coffee.
She smiled softly.
“Sure. I’d like that.”
He closed the door behind him, and she stood again with the cup in her hands, feeling that this morning was the first chapter of something new — delicate, real, and unhurried. Something that might turn into love.
