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The sound of the espresso machine hissed endlessly, spewing white steam that instantly evaporated into the air, thick with the rich aroma of perfectly roasted Arabica coffee beans. In front of the counter, the line of customers began to grow longer, snaking almost to the entrance's glass door handle. Today was too busy for an ordinary day—as if the entire city had suddenly agreed that they needed a caffeine fix at the exact same time—forcing you to move quickly from one order to another without a chance to breathe a sigh of relief or even wipe the sweat from your brow.
"One caramel latte!"
"Americano to go!"
"Extra whipped cream, please!"
You answered every order with a mechanical mutter of confirmation, staying focused on preparing drinks behind the bar counter, which was wet with spilled milk and syrup. Your hands moved nimbly: pouring oat milk into the jug, tamping the coffee grounds, pressing the machine button until thick black liquid dripped slowly—all of it had become a routine ingrained beyond conscious thought.
But in the midst of the busyness, you could feel Pierrot's gaze. The silent clown from the strange circus that had been coming to your café almost every day for the past three weeks. Always at the same time. Always sitting at the corner table by the window. Always ordering the same drink. A milkshake. He never once touched the straw.
"Hey, is the order for table four ready?"
Your coworker's scolding startled you, breaking the one-sided eye contact. You flinched and nearly dropped the glass in your hand. "Ah, yes! Just a moment," you replied.
When the line of customers finally began to thin and the café atmosphere calmed down a bit, your coworker sighed with relief while leaning against the back counter. "Thank goodness it's getting quieter. Oh, by the way, that customer in the corner... he ordered a milkshake again, right? And he's been staring at you this whole time. Do you know him?"
"I only know his name," you answered.
Now you were one hundred percent sure Pierrot was deliberately following you. No matter where you went after your shift ended—whether stopping by the grocery store or walking home through narrow alleys—you could occasionally catch his silhouette. His black-and-red costume, the large ruffled collar around his neck, and the porcelain-white face paint with a black tear painted beneath one eye.
You took a deep breath, then reached for the next paper cup. But just as your hand was about to grab the portafilter to make the next espresso, your hand stopped.
"…Huh?"
You opened the lid of the coffee bean container on top of the grinder. Completely empty. Only a few scattered grounds remained at the bottom.
"Oh, come on … not now," you sighed softly, massaging your throbbing temple.
You glanced at the highest storage shelf attached to the wall. Two large bags of backup coffee beans sat perched sweetly up there. So high. And of course, the coworker who had put them there yesterday clearly hadn't considered the average human height when restocking.
You sighed, then began to tiptoe while stretching your right arm as high as it would go. Your fingertips nearly touched the corner of the coffee bag, but the object didn't budge. You tried again. This time with extra effort, balancing on the tips of your shoes while one hand gripped the edge of the bar counter to keep steady. You stretched your body until A long arm clad in black-and-red fabric reached out over your head. The coffee bag was retrieved in one grab.
Pierrot.
The man now stood directly behind you. The distance between you had completely vanished; your back was nearly pressed against his broad chest. He was too close. So close that you could smell a sweet aroma—a blend of cotton candy and vanilla from his circus costume. His towering height made you feel small. Pierrot lowered his head slightly. His porcelain-white face paint peered over your shoulder, and with a slow, theatrical movement, his large hand handed the coffee bag in front of your face.
In front of the counter, the waiting customers who had been grumbling fell silent. A few people began whispering to each other and throwing curious glances your way. Because of course, this scene looked extraordinarily strange to normal humans: a barista suddenly frozen and trembling while receiving a bag of coffee, while a tall clown with an intimidating aura stood glued behind them like a possessive personal bodyguard.
Pierrot tilted his head and smiled. The tiny bells on the tip of his hat jingled amidst the noisy café.
"Thank you... Now, please go sit back at your table. My shift won't end for another two hours."
Hearing your whisper, Pierrot immediately stepped back. His golden eyes locked onto yours through the reflection in the mirror behind the bar, as if to make sure you knew he wasn't going anywhere. He would wait for you.
The sky outside the window began to darken. Customers left one by one, and the café's chatter slowly faded until only soft music remained from the old speaker in the corner of the room. Your coworker had already gone home. Only you were left, busy cleaning tables and washing the last of the equipment.
When the "OPEN" sign light was finally turned off, you breathed a sigh of relief.
"Finally done…"
Truth be told, you had started getting used to his strange habits. Pierrot rarely spoke, but almost all of his emotions showed in the way he watched you. After finishing cleaning the coffee machine, you opened the small freezer behind the counter and smiled slightly when you found what you were looking for.
"Ah, there's still some left."
You took two cups of vanilla ice cream, then patiently began adding various toppings: a drizzle of thick chocolate sauce, a sprinkle of colorful sprinkles, and a few brigadeiros—sweet Brazilian chocolate balls that were Pierrot's favorite treat.
"Do you still want to sit for a while? Keep me company?" you asked.
Pierrot nodded. You sat down across from him and placed the ice cream cup in front of him.
"I didn't know what flavor of ice cream you like besides brigadeiro, so I just chose vanilla as the base."
Pierrot lowered his gaze, staring at the ice cream intently as if it were a priceless artifact. The tiny bells on his hat chimed softly, their clear ring cutting through the night's silence as he bowed his head slightly, examining the brigadeiros arranged neatly on top of his ice cream.
"For me, dear?"
You smiled at his reaction. "Yes, for you. Consider it a thank-you for helping me grab the coffee."
Hearing your answer, Pierrot slowly reached for the small plastic spoon beside the cup. It was such a contrasting and endearing sight: the tall clown figure who usually exuded a mysterious and intimidating aura now looked genuinely happy just from being given a simple dessert. You chuckled at the sparkle in his eyes, then began eating your own ice cream.
For a few minutes, the atmosphere became very calm. There was only the sound of rain outside the window, the clinking of small spoons, and the occasional jingle of Pierrot's hat bells as he moved. You could clearly see how his mood immediately lifted just from that simple dessert.
You noticed a small smudge of white cream at the corner of his lips. Without realizing it, a mischievous urge arose in your mind. You scooped up a bit of ice cream from your own cup, loaded it with chocolate sauce, then held it directly in front of his face.
"Try this one. It has a secret layer of caramel syrup underneath," you said.
Pierrot suddenly froze. His golden eyes widened, staring at the spoon in your hand, then shifting to your eyes. Slowly, he leaned his tall body across the table. With a very careful motion—as if afraid of breaking the flimsy spoon—he opened his mouth slightly, letting you feed him the ice cream.
As soon as the spoon was pulled back, Pierrot immediately turned his face toward the window, trying to hide the pink blush that had suddenly appeared beneath his thick porcelain-white powder. The bells on his hat jingled noisily from the sudden movement. You propped your chin in both hands on the table, unable to hold back the wide smile spreading across your lips.