Silent Symphony

She was alone, and lonely. Clara sat lost in thought at a corner table in her favorite little cafe. She slowly sipped her latte, her eyes tracing the patterns of steam rising from the cup. The cozy ambiance and gentle hum of chatter had always been her refuge from the world's chaos. Today was no different. She craved distance from her work environment and the incessant phone calls and texts. She was needed, but in a utilitarian way. She mostly felt invisible. Sometimes she wanted to actually be invisible.

Amidst the clatter of dishes and symphony of order announcements, she looked up and caught sight of a man, sitting alone at a table across the room. Tall, dark, and handsome.

How cliche, she thought. He was professional looking, focused on his laptop and occasionally he hurriedly scratched notes on a yellow notepad. A large book was propped open near him, peppered with sticky notes.

A bibliophile? she wondered. She noted he barely lifted his eyes and sipped his coffee out of desperation rather than enjoyment. Probably a stuffy lawyer, she reconciled. He was sophisticated, that much was obvious. His dark hair fell slightly and gracefully over his face, partially obscuring his features, leaving Clara to wonder about his story.

She diverted her eyes to her half empty latte, and gently traced her fingers over the rim of the mug. She thought about her own missed opportunities - the what if's. What if she had gone to medical school. What if she had accepted that modeling contract. What if she had been brave enough to move away from the city... her family and friends, and start over somewhere new with a blank slate. What would her life look like? No, she quickly dismissed those thoughts. She had been pragmatic. She chose the road with less risk. She is successful, and by intention.

Her thoughts were quickly broken by the clatter of shattered porcelain. She looked up, startled, and caught the man's gaze on her. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee and the soft murmur of conversation filled the air around them, forming an invisible bubble where Clara and this new mysterious man existed in shared solitude, eyes locked. It was a peculiar connection, unspoken yet palpable, like two characters in a story waiting for their narratives to intertwine. He has regrets.... though she couldn't put her finger precisely on what they were. It wasn't with his career. He was decisively buried in it, in something... though his pen and laptop had suddenly become dormant. The moment seemed to hang in the air... to the point of discomfort.

She felt her breath catch, as though to silence her existence. She broke her gaze, shrinking herself and bowing her head towards her coffee and phone, which had been off for the better part of the hour. Outside, the clouds shifted exposing sunbeams that leapt through the window landing gently across her shoulders and illuminating her face. In that moment.... she knew she was being seen.