The girl sitting at one of the tables was incessantly texting away, and the coffee I had placed before her was growing cold. Finally, she put her phone away and took a sip of her coffee. Her face wrinkled in distaste, and I sighed as she made her way towards me. With a scowl, she slapped the coffee down on the counter.

“This coffee is horrible,” she told me, “It’s cold and has no flavour whatsoever.”

“I’m sorry,” I said, forcing a smile. I didn’t mention it would’ve been hot if she had stopped texting, or that she had asked for no milk and no sugar.

“I demand a refund,” she said, rummaging through her purse.

“Of course,” I said, with a slight bow. I shifted through the register and dropped a few bills in her hand. Haughtily, she walked through the door, and stopped when the boy entered. She appraised him approvingly, and purposely walked into him. Apologizing profusely, she made sure to flutter her eyelashes and smile. The boy mumbled a word of apology, but otherwise ignored her and came up to me. As soon as he made eye contact with me, the girl glowered at me and flounced out the door. Absentmindedly, the boy asked for a café miel.

“It must be hard to smile all the time,” he said, watching as I busied myself with his order.

“It is,” I said, a little tiredly. “But the customers have to be satisfied, or there’ll be hell to pay.”

“When do you smile?” he asked, propping his backpack on the table. I pondered over his question as I rubbed my necklace.

“I smile the most,” I said slowly, “when I’m sad.” I slid his coffee towards him, and watched him take an appreciative sip.

“Funny,” he mused. “I smile when I’m happy.” The corners of my mouth twitched at the irony.

“Do I make you feel sad? You always smile when I’m here,” he went on, playing with the coffee cup. I fell silent at his question.

“You make me smile,” I said, after a few minutes of deliberation, “because I can’t understand you. When you bring up the past and avoid my questions, you make me feel sad and I smile because of that. When you tell me about yourself, you make me feel like I know you, and I really smile because I’m happy.” My cheeks burned, and I looked away, ashamed of my outburst. Gently, the boy reached out and cupped my cheek, and I felt like my entire face was on fire.

“You make me smile,” he said, “because you don’t push me. When you want to know something, you keep quiet, and I smile because I know you understand. When I tell you something about me, your eyes light up, and I smile because I know how much you care about me.”

“I’m leaving next week,” I said a bit awkwardly. The boy looked unsurprised, and I felt my heart sink at his indifference.

“Well then,” he said, as he pushed a few coins towards me and stood up. “We have a busy week ahead of us.”

I kept quiet, and wondered if he meant it.