Image credit: From Mostafa Akbari’s “From Eyes’ Secret…” collection.
Rain was falling softly.
The café was quiet—
filled with the scent of coffee and wet air.
A tall man walked in,
taking a seat by the window.
“A glass of lemonade, please,”
he said before the waiter asked.
“Anything else, sir?”
“No, that’s all.”
“Right away.”
The waiter walked away.
Moments later, a woman with short hair stepped inside.
Raindrops clung to her hair.
Her face: calm, unreadable.
She came over and sat across from him.
The man gave a faint smile.
“Hi! Thanks for coming… one last time.”
She said nothing.
He looked at her—
his eyes filled with remnants of love.
“I can’t lose you!”
His hands moved toward hers.
“This is the last time we’ll meet.”
Her hands left the table.
“Let me try to make you stay.”
“If I stay, I’d be insulting myself.”
“Here’s your lemonade.”
The waiter placed a sweating glass before him.
Turning to her, he asked,
“And for you, ma’am?”
“A glass of warm milk, please.”
“Of course.”
“Thank you!” She smiled.
“You still drink milk when you’re upset,”
the man said, his eyes following the waiter as he walked away.
“You’re wrong.
You don’t upset me anymore.
You don’t make me feel anything anymore.”
“What do you mean?”
“When someone has no place in your life,
they no longer have the power to hurt you.”
“You once said you couldn’t even breathe without me.”
She took a deep breath.
“The woman who said that is long gone.”
“I know I made mistakes.”
“Too many.”
“But you said you’d stay forever.”
“My forever ended.”
“I still love you.”
“You only love yourself.”
“I love you as much as I love myself.”
“Another lie among your too many lies.”
“I’m sorry. Let me make it right.”
“If I stay, I’d be insulting myself.”
“Would it change anything if I begged you?”
“You beg—
not for me, but for yourself.
You fell in love not with me, but with the projection of your desires and needs.
A quiet, motionless image, not a breathing, lively person.
You forgot I’m human.
That I need to be heard.
To be seen.
To simply be.
You ignored me.
You twisted your words, making me think I was crazy.
You turned me into a sad woman.
You made me give up what I loved.
You made me censor myself so you wouldn’t mock me.
You made me feel unsafe where I should’ve felt safest.”
She sighed, “Whatever…”
“When did I ever do that to you?”
A warm cup of milk appeared before the woman.
“Your warm milk, ma’am.”
She looked at the waiter.
“I didn’t order warm milk.”
A moment of confusion emptied the waiter’s eyes.
“But I wrote it down: warm milk.”
He turned to the man, anxious.
“Isn’t that right, sir?”
“Yes, she ordered warm milk.”
Her gaze slid from one to the other.
“No. I asked for green tea.”
“But—”
The man interrupted.
“Please just bring her a green tea.”
The woman smiled knowingly.
“See?
I took back my words.
I made that poor waiter look like a fool.
He’ll be scolded.
He’ll start doubting himself.
Tomorrow, he’ll ask every customer twice about their order.
His life changed because of one small thing I said.
Exactly what you’ve been doing to me for years.”
She stood up.
“If I stay, I’d be insulting myself.
See you never.”
She stepped away from the table
toward the embarrassed waiter standing quietly by the counter.
“My order was a glass of warm milk.
You didn’t make a mistake. Sorry!”
And then, she left.
