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Mixing robusta with milk had long become Kaiwen’s ritual. Day after day, he pulled the levers of the espresso machine with practiced ease, frothing milk into silky clouds. Of course, he was a barista. But behind every latte and cappuccino he crafted, there was a dream percolating: one day, he would own a coffee shop of his own. For now, working as a barista was his self-declared apprenticeship—“for practice,” as he liked to say.
This month, his dedication paid off. Kaiwen was named Employee of the Month. It’s the shop’s most prestigious recognition. A small step, perhaps, but one that made his goal feel closer.
He had been behind the counter for a year and three months. At the same time, he pursued a degree in theater and arts at the nearby university, where he shared a dorm with friends who fueled his creativity as much as his exhaustion. Still, he worked tirelessly, pouring hours into the café. Why? Because every shift, every cup, every conversation with a customer was another brick in the foundation of his future coffee shop.
The café’s location, just a few steps from campus, made it a popular haunt for students. They arrived with laptops and heavy course loads, lingering over coffee while wrestling with assignments. Kaiwen didn’t mind the bustle; it gave the café its charm. But the constant requests for discounts from friends and colleagues chipped away at his patience.
“Nope, not today, Anxin,” Kaiwen said quietly. “You already had a discount yesterday. If I keep this up, my manager will think I’ve lost it and I could get fired. You understand, right?” He smiled to soften the refusal. “I’ll make you a latte once I’m back at the dorm. If you really can’t afford it here, at least.”
Anxin’s expression tightened in mock frustration. “Kai-ge, how could you be so mean to me?” He sighed, then forced a little laugh. “Fine. I’ll survive. I’ll do an Americano today. What about you, Hao-ge?”
Jiahao, who had been staring off blankly, jolted back. “Oh. Uh, yeah. I’ll just take a donut. Um. The chocolate one. And… no coffee today, I already had too many Red Bulls. Yup."
Kaiwen laughed. “Hao-ge, are your assignments eating you alive? What’s with the stutter? Alright, that’ll be four thirty-seven.”
Jiahao gave a weary smile. “Sorry, Kaiwen. I’m not myself today. Don’t mind me.” He slid his card across the counter. “You still remember the pass, right?”
Kaiwen nodded as he handed over the receipt. “And what about you, Anxin? Didn’t you just say you’d survive? So why is Hao-ge paying for you?” He chuckled, shaking his head. “Haha, you two…”
Anxin frowned, lifting one eyebrow in mock irritation. “Stop messing with me, Kai-ge."
Kaiwen raised both hands in surrender. “Whoops. Alright, alright. No more teasing. Have a great day, you two. Please step aside and wait over by the counter.”
They drifted toward the pick-up area, still murmuring between themselves. Kaiwen leaned back against the register for a moment, letting out a breath. The café clock ticked just past ten on a Sunday morning. Normally, by this time, the shop would already be alive with noise—groups of students clutching laptops, the hiss of steaming milk cut through by overlapping conversations, the scrape of chairs against the wooden floor. But today was strangely still. The air smelled faintly of roasted beans and sugar glaze, yet only two customers sat inside: Jiahao and Anxin, his closest friends. Their easy presence made the quiet bearable, their chatter filling what otherwise might have been an empty, echoing space.
Kaiwen glanced around. Sunlight spilled through the wide front windows, landing in pale stripes across the empty tables. The low hum of the refrigerator in the back mingled with the occasional whirr of the grinder. He almost welcomed the calm—after all, the shop usually drowned him in orders and noise. Still, a part of him wondered if this quiet meant slower sales, which meant fewer tips, which meant another week of stretching his budget thinner than he’d like. He shook the thought away and focused on the warmth of the moment instead.
Just then, the bell above the door jingled.
A familiar figure stepped inside, shaking off the morning chill.
“Ah, Liyu-ge!” Kaiwen called out, straightening behind the counter. His voice rang with sudden energy, as though the silence had been waiting for this moment to break. “Back at it with assignments again, huh?”
Liyu smiled faintly, adjusting the strap of his worn backpack. The sight of it was already an answer.
“What would you like to order, ge? Same as always? A latte with an excessive flat white foam?” Kaiwen’s eyes sparkled as he leaned forward, teasing while Liyu scanned the menu board.
“No,” Liyu replied, shaking his head. “I’ll go for a matcha latte today. My stomach’s not in the mood for coffee. Yes, with excessive foam, if you must. And… a slice of tiramisu crepe cake.”
Kaiwen frowned playfully. “Awh, ge, think about your poor stomach. You’ve been working way too hard. I’m adding something else for you. A treat. Surprise.” He tapped the cashier’s screen with finality.
Liyu gave him a sharp look. “Hey, why would you do that? I’m fine with what I ordered.”
“Three forty-six,” Kaiwen announced with mock seriousness. “And nope, refusal is not on the menu today. For once, let me take care of you. Now, please go sit down.”
For a moment, Liyu opened his mouth to argue, but the determination in Kaiwen’s smile silenced him. With a sigh, he swiped his card and headed toward his usual seat by the window. As he sat, he found himself unsettled—not by the change in his order, but by the strange warmth creeping in at Kaiwen’s words.
For once, let me take care of you.
It wasn’t something he was used into hearing. And maybe, he thought as he glanced back at the counter where Kaiwen was humming over the register, maybe it wasn’t something he hated either.
“Hey, Kaiwen.”
Kaiwen didn’t look up right away, too focused on steadying the stream of milk as it spiraled into Liyu’s espresso. The hum of the machine masked Jiahao’s voice at first.
“Haven’t you sat down yet?” Kaiwen asked, glancing sideways. “Didn’t the others already serve your Americano and donut?”
Jiahao rested an elbow on the counter, his grin faint but knowing. “Yeah, they did. That’s not what I came for.”
Kaiwen’s hand paused mid-pour. “Then what?”
Jiahao nodded subtly toward the far corner, where Liyu sat under the sunlight, typing quietly. His white shirt caught the light, the edges of his hair almost glowing.
“That guy’s new, isn’t he?” Jiahao asked, his tone light but loaded.
Kaiwen followed his gaze for only a heartbeat before looking away. “He’s not new. Comes here every day,” he said simply, trying to sound neutral. “Flat white, less sugar.”
Jiahao’s lips twitched. “Ah, I see. You even remember his sugar preferences now.”
Kaiwen didn’t answer. He rinsed the metal pitcher a little too carefully, pretending to check the temperature.
“Don’t worry,” Jiahao said softly, eyes glinting. “I get it. The morning light hits differently when someone like that’s sitting in it, huh?”
Kaiwen looked up then, surprised by the gentleness in Jiahao’s voice. He wanted to joke, to deflect, but his chest felt warm and uncertain, as if someone had spoken a truth he wasn’t ready to name.
He set the finished drink on the counter, his voice low. “You’re reading too much into things.”
“Maybe,” Jiahao replied, stepping back with a grin that didn’t press further. “Or maybe not.”
As he walked away, Kaiwen found himself glancing once more toward the window. Liyu was still there, completely absorbed in his work, unaware—or pretending not to be—that Kaiwen’s world had quietly tilted in his direction.
The matcha latte steamed softly beneath its thick layer of flat-white foam, its green surface veiled by a cloud of milk. Beside it sat a neat slice of tiramisu crepe cake, and a small box wrapped in the café’s simple brown paper — no logo, no ribbon, just the kind of care that didn’t need to be announced. Inside the box was something Kaiwen had made only moments ago, a quiet impulse between orders, stirred by the sight of Liyu’s familiar profile framed by the morning light.
Balancing the tray with both hands, Kaiwen made his way to the corner table. Liyu sat there as always, surrounded by scattered papers and a laptop screen washed in blue light. His posture was precise, his focus absolute, as though the rest of the world had learned to exist around his silence.
“Liyu-ge,” Kaiwen said softly, setting the tray down. “Here are your orders. And, my treat also.”
Liyu blinked, his attention pulling reluctantly from the screen. His brows knit faintly as he noticed the additional box. “So.. massive! What is that?”
Kaiwen rubbed at his sleeve, suddenly self-conscious. “I made it just now. It’s mochi filled with tiramisu cream — kind of an experiment. I figured you could use something sweet.”
Liyu’s expression shifted, curiosity tempered by restraint. He hesitated before tugging at the paper, unwrapping it neatly. Inside lay three small mochi, their shapes imperfect but deliberate, dusted with a fine layer of cocoa powder. They looked oddly personal — not something made to sell, but to give.
“They’re not much,” Kaiwen said quickly, a nervous smile tugging at his lips. “But they’re fresh."
Liyu picked one up between his fingers and took a careful bite. The dough yielded easily, revealing the rich bitterness of espresso folded into the sweetness of cream. His expression remained unreadable for a moment. Then, without a word, he took another bite.
“…It’s good,” he said quietly, setting the half-eaten mochi back down. “Better than I expected.”
Kaiwen laughed under his breath. “I’ll pretend that’s a compliment.”
“It is." The reply was quick, almost too quick, and when Liyu spoke again his voice was softer. “You shouldn’t underestimate yourself.”
The comment hung in the air, casual on the surface but heavier than either of them intended. For a heartbeat, neither spoke. The hiss of the espresso machine filled the distance between them, faint and rhythmic, like the café itself was listening in.
Kaiwen cleared his throat. “I’ll, um, head back to the counter. Enjoy the goods, alright?”
He turned to leave, but Liyu’s voice stopped him halfway. “Next time,” he said without looking up, “make it less sweet. I’ll pay for it.”
Kaiwen glanced back, a grin tugging at the edge of his mouth. “Deal.”
When he returned to the counter, his chest felt lighter, though he couldn’t quite name why. He pretended to focus on wiping a cup, yet his gaze drifted again — toward the corner table, toward the quiet man now stirring his latte absentmindedly, as though lost in thought.
The café was softer that day. The chatter of students faded into a low hum, and sunlight slipped through the blinds in warm, slanted stripes. It was the kind of late afternoon meant for quiet thoughts rather than work.
Liyu came in without his laptop, which was unusual. No papers, no notes. Just a book tucked under his arm. He had told himself he only needed a change of air, a place to rest for a while. Still, when he looked toward the counter and didn’t see Kaiwen, something inside him dipped unexpectedly.
Then he spotted him, by the window, half-hidden behind a mug and a tangle of papers. Kaiwen’s headphones hung loose around his neck, his laptop screen glowing faintly. He was typing something, then erasing, then typing again. There was a little crease between his brows, the same one he made when a latte’s foam didn’t come out right.
Liyu hesitated near the entrance, fingers brushing the edge of his book. He could sit anywhere. But his feet decided for him.
“Busy today?” he asked when he reached the table.
Kaiwen looked up, startled, then relaxed into a smile that felt unguarded, softer than the one he wore behind the counter. “Liyu-ge. No, not busy. Just pretending to be.”
Liyu nodded toward the screen. “Assignments?”
“Yeah. Script analysis. It’s harder to focus when I’m not working.” Kaiwen’s laugh was quiet, almost embarrassed. “I think I’m addicted to noise.”
“That’s ironic,” Liyu said, setting his book on the table. “You spend half your life making noise for other people.”
Kaiwen grinned. “True. I guess I don’t know what to do when it’s quiet.”
For a moment, the silence between them wasn’t awkward. It was the good kind — the kind that made both of them aware of how still the air had become.
Liyu ordered his drink from another barista, but when he came back, he didn’t choose another seat. He sat across from Kaiwen, placing his cup beside the younger man’s stack of papers.
“Mind if I stay here?”
Kaiwen blinked once, then shook his head. “No, not at all.”
They didn’t talk much after that. Liyu sipped his drink and watched the people outside; Kaiwen kept typing, though his words came slower now. Occasionally their eyes met — once when Liyu laughed quietly at something in his book, and again when Kaiwen stretched and sighed, muttering about deadlines. Each time, neither looked away right away.
The sun dipped lower, painting the walls in amber. At one point, Kaiwen’s hand brushed against the table near Liyu’s, close enough to feel the warmth but not quite touching. Neither moved it.
Liyu had come to rest, to think of nothing. Instead, he found himself thinking of the boy across from him, the one who used to hand him coffee with a grin and now sat quietly under the same light, chasing words across a blank screen.
Time drifted softly around them. Outside, the sunlight had mellowed to the color of pale honey, and the street beyond the glass carried the lazy hush of evening. The crowd inside the café had thinned, leaving only a few voices trailing at the far tables.
Kaiwen’s laptop dimmed to black. He leaned back with a sigh, rubbing his eyes. “Guess that’s enough pretending for today.”
Liyu looked up from his book. “Finished?”
“Not really.” Kaiwen smiled faintly. “But I think my brain just clocked out.”
“Understandable,” Liyu murmured, setting his cup down. “You’ve been here for hours.”
“Yea,” Kaiwen said, glancing around the room. “It’s funny being on this side of things. I keep feeling like I should go clean someone’s table.”
Liyu’s laugh was quiet but genuine, the kind that softened his usual composure. “You could try. But they’d probably make you pay double.”
Kaiwen chuckled. “Then I’ll stay put.”
A comfortable silence settled again. The café’s playlist hummed faintly through the speakers — some slow acoustic tune that made the space feel smaller, warmer.
Liyu’s gaze wandered across the table, to the scrawled notes scattered around Kaiwen’s laptop. “You really like this, don’t you? Writing, I mean.”
Kaiwen hesitated, then nodded. “I think so. It’s kind of like coffee, actually. You make something small and hope someone feels something when they taste it.”
“That’s… unexpectedly poetic." Liyu said.
Kaiwen laughed softly. “Occupational hazard.”
He turned his cup in slow circles, watching the last swirl of milk mix into the dark. “You come here every day, Liyu-ge. Do you ever get tired of this place?”
Liyu shook his head. “No. Not yet.” He paused, considering his words. “Maybe it’s not about the place.”
Kaiwen blinked, caught off guard. “Then what is it about?”
Liyu didn’t answer right away. His eyes lifted to meet Kaiwen’s, steady but unreadable, the faintest trace of a smile playing at the corner of his mouth. “I’m still figuring that out.”
The air between them felt different after that — thinner, quieter, as if the moment had paused just long enough for both of them to notice it.
Outside, the light dimmed to gold, then to amber. The reflection of the window caught their silhouettes, almost side by side, two figures framed by a glow that neither wanted to leave just yet.
Kaiwen’s fingers brushed the rim of his cup, then stilled. Liyu looked away first, but only to hide the small, helpless curve of his lips.
The sun had nearly slipped below the buildings outside, leaving only the soft glow of the café’s lamps. The air smelled faintly of vanilla and espresso grounds, the kind of scent that clung to time itself.
Kaiwen stretched, the sound of his chair scraping lightly against the floor. “I should probably head back soon,” he murmured. “The dorm’s not gonna clean itself.”
Liyu closed his book and stood too, rolling his shoulders as if shaking off a long day. “I’ll walk with you. It’s on my way.”
Kaiwen blinked, surprised. “You sure? It’s getting dark.”
“That’s why,” Liyu said simply. “Come on.”
They left together, the café door chiming faintly behind them. The street outside was quieter than usual — a thin drizzle had started to fall, blurring the neon reflections in the puddles. Kaiwen pulled his hood over his head, but Liyu only lifted his hand slightly, shielding his hair with his palm in a half-hearted attempt.
“You’ll catch a cold like that,” Kaiwen said, laughing softly. “Wait—here.”
Without thinking, he shifted closer, tilting his umbrella to cover them both. The rain pattered against the thin fabric, muffling the world around them.
Liyu hesitated for a second, then moved under the umbrella. The space between them narrowed until their sleeves brushed. Neither spoke. The faint rhythm of rain filled the quiet.
Kaiwen’s pulse ticked faster. He didn’t dare look up; instead, he focused on the sidewalk, on the way the lamplight stretched across the wet pavement.
Liyu’s voice broke the silence, low and almost thoughtful. “You’re different when you’re not behind the counter.”
Kaiwen glanced at him. “Different how?”
“Quieter,” Liyu said after a pause. “Or maybe just… realer.”
Kaiwen smiled, a little crooked, unsure what to do with that. “Maybe that’s because you’re seeing me in my natural habitat. Off duty.”
Liyu huffed a laugh. “Then I guess I should visit more often when you’re off duty.”
The words were light, almost teasiig, but there was something beneath them, something that made Kaiwen’s chest tighten. The rain eased to a soft mist, the umbrella dripping faintly at the edges.
They reached the corner near Kaiwen’s dorm, where the streetlight glowed pale and steady. He turned to face Liyu, hesitating, unsure whether to step back or say goodbye.
Liyu looked at him then — really looked — and for the first time, the quiet between them wasn’t filled with coffee or small talk or habit. It was full of awareness.
Neither leaned in. They didn’t need to. The distance between them felt fragile enough to break with one wrong word.
Kaiwen smiled first. “Thanks for walking me, Liyu-ge.”
“Anytime,” Liyu said. His voice was steady, but his eyes lingered a second too long before he turned away.
As Kaiwen watched him leave, the rain began again, light and rhythmic, as if the world was keeping time for something neither of them had quite named yet.
It had been months since the rain incident.
The café was half-empty by evening. Outside, the street lamps had just begun to hum, their light soft and pale against the drizzle. Kaiwen sat by the window again, his books open but unread. Across from him, Liyu was stirring what was left of his drink, the spoon moving in slow, absent circles.
They had been talking for hours without noticing — about classes, exhaustion, the small absurdities of daily life. It was easy, almost too easy, the kind of conversation that forgets where it began. But now, as the air turned cooler, their words had grown quieter, drifting toward the edges of things that mattered more.
Kaiwen traced the rim of his cup. “Sometimes I think about quitting,” he said softly. “The café, I mean. Starting over somewhere else. Maybe open my own place someday, you know? Something small. Peaceful.”
Liyu looked at him, eyes steady. “Would you really leave?”
Kaiwen hesitated. “I don’t know. Maybe. Maybe not.” He smiled faintly. “But it’s hard not to wonder what comes next.”
The sound of rain filled the pause between them.
Liyu leaned back, his gaze drifing toward the window. “If you ever do,” he said after a moment, “make sure there’s still coffee.”
Kaiwen tilted his head. “Why?”
Liyu’s answer came slowly, quiet but certain. “So I can still find you.”
The words weren’t meant to be heavy, but they lingered in the air, soft and impossible to ignore. Kaiwen’s breath caught, just slightly. He looked at Liyu, and for the first time, neither of them looked away.
No one said anything more. The café’s lights dimmed, and the last of the rain whispered against the glass. Somewhere, a machine clicked off — a signal that the day was ending.
But neither of them moved. They just sat there, listening to the silence, as if the world had finally learned to speak their language.