The coffee shop was hot, steamy and filled with the familiar barista symphony of buzzing, frothing and chatting. The audience dance, whirl, and twirl to the orchestra with practised ease as lattes are scooped with long spoons and espressos downed-in-one by the hard-core. The regulars, the rushing, and the late, all pass through this daily concert … all participating in the communal orchestral salutation to the morning. All … but one.

The quiet man. The quiet man shrinks into his usual chair in the corner by the window, becoming the all-seeing, invisible observer. His journal sits unopened in front of him as his distraction inflates with each opening of the door.

Soon, his anticipation fades along with the descending crescendo of his surroundings, as people leave; buses need to be caught, toddlers deposited at nurseries and meetings attended. A dull weight of discomfort settles in the pit of his stomach, threatening to ruin his day. Then, just as resignation was about to tighten its grip on him, he saw her. With focussed control, he set about arranging his features and posture into nonchalance. Only his eyes followed her whilst his head remained looking straight ahead. However, the door did not ‘ping’; she rushed past the window, with barely a glance in his direction.

She rushes on, the pavement below her a blur as she cuts through the morning frost in a bid to outwit time. On her way she barely glances at the coffee shop, with its steamed-up windows and beguiling aroma wafting around its periphery. Disappointment, peppered with annoyance at herself, threaten to ruin her day as she has no choice but to give her americano a miss this morning.

Three months ago, he had seen her, heard her, said ‘excuse me’ and the odd ‘sorry’ to her. He had seen her book tucked under her arm, On Beauty, Zadie Smith. She had perched on the chair opposite once, and he had seen The Lumineers on her phone’s playlist. He had heard her voice and it sounded like the perfect combination of crystal and marshmallows, although that made no sense when he said it, so he kept that to himself.

Now, the quiet, melancholy man remained huddled in his corner, by the steamed-up window, with a coffee, a journal, and bundle of courage poised to finally unleash itself.