I sipped on my coffee, both hands cradle the hot cup carefully. I was seating inside the coffeeshop, beside the floor-to-roof window. The morning was freezing and people was rushing to get to their destination, trying not to be exposed too long in the unforgiving weather. But you were standing there, in the middle of the busy sidewalk with him. Your cheeks and nose were turning red.

I noticed the way you moved, caution and defensive while he was making obnoxious agressive gestures. I didn’t know what I expected, but I was half in shock when I watched when he landed his hand hard across your face then turned around and left you behind. You lowered your face, maybe to avoid the heads that started to turn toward your way.

Other than the curious glances they throw at you, people didn't mind your business. The curiosity died away, eventually, but you were standing still. Your shoulders were tense and you had your hands balled on either sides of you. A few minutes passed before you finally made a move. When you rubbed your face—or rather, your eyes—that was when I realized that you were crying.

I told my self that a pang I felt in my heart was pity.

--- --- ---

I was always came to the coffeeshop in my way to home after work. I couldn’t help but to notice that after that humiliating day, you kept coming and waiting in the same spot. Unconsciously, I started to watch you, wondering what you were waiting for. Were you waiting for him?

Then I realized that it wasn’t my business, really. You were a stanger to me. I just happend to witness a scene of a drama in your life and it didn’t suddenly make me have the right to put my nose in your problem, but every time I went to the coffeeshop, I couldn’t help but drifted my eyes to your usual spot.

I told my self it was curiosity.

At the very least, I tried not to be a creep. I tried to conspicuous about it, tried not to hide anything and while it was obvious for some people—namely Byungki, the barista, who was never miss a day without teasing me about it—you stayed oblivious, somehow.

But it didn’t stop me to observe you: You always had boots in the work days and sneakers on the weekends; You always wear the same brown coat from Monday to Wednesday that looked so well used I wondered if it felt as soft as it looked and a black sleak coat for the rest of your work day, but you has a few layers of clothing under your fashionable leather jacket you always wear for the weekends; You always forgot your mitts in Friday; and you persistently stand in your usual spot, unmoved, until the last shop in the vicinity was closed.

At this point it pointless to tell myself that my interest was completely platonic—I was actually started to come on weekends just so I could watch you—so, I gathered up courage and steeled my heart and readily admit to my self that, yes, I have a huge manly crush on you.

The problem was that I didn’t even know how you felt. You were obviously having a breakdown from a relationship that, from as far as I could see, was far from salvagable, even thought you seemed to think otherwise. After all, you were still here, waiting for him under the cold weather.

And so I was always staring at you no matter how oblivious you are at what I was doing. Days passed, replaced by weeks and soon after, replaced by months. Since the first week, my curiosity died and replaced by other feeling over you, and the feeling grew up everyday.

On one murky day, hard cold winter wind blew and froze every soul that persistent enough to challenge the weather. On this particularly damned day, you still come and stood in the spot and I was still watching you from inside the warm coffee shop. I lost count of coffee I had already drunk and yet you still didn’t give up and still stood there for the reason I didn’t know. Yet.

You sneeze then rubbed your red nose, your face turned red rapidly, but I could see nothing but optimistic in your eyes. I squeezed my hand together, oh how I felt hurt by your expression and yet I didn’t know why.

I had enough. I stood up and came out from the shop, bringing along with me hot dark brown liquid in the biggest mug the coffee shop owned.

“Here,” I stretched out my hand and offered the coffee to you. You turned around and looked at me with warm expression, not shocked or puzzled at why a stranger approaching you and suddenly gave you a cup of coffee. You took the coffee and mumbled a soft thank you to me. I stood there instead of leaving you and you didn’t question why.

“He will never come,” I suddenly said, but you just nodded. As if a stranger knowing all of your business didn’t bother you to slightest bit.

“You know it but yet you still waiting for him?” I couldn’t help my self.

For awhile you just sipped on your coffee. I watched you and waited patiently for your reply.

“No,” you suddenly said.

Then why are you always coming and standing here waiting alone even in the day like this? I thought. Apparently, my thought flight out off my head and reached your, somehow, even if I didn’t say it, because you then continued, “Since the first week of waiting, my intention had already changed,” you looked at me and smiled a bright smile that warm me inside more effectively than the sun or coffee, and I completely melted when you said the next sentence, “I’m waiting for the day when you come to me.”

Ime's Note: So... I rewrote this too. I strongly believe this is better than the previous one, although I can't tell for sure. I named it under "The Fourth Avenue Cafe" series. I hope you like it! ;) Thank you very much for reading (and commenting)!