I always laughed without holding back,
while you—
you’d pout,
shy and fidgeting,
whenever that story resurfaced.

That time you begged for a sip—
“Just curious”, you said,
“the name sounds unique.”
I let you try it.

You winced.
“Bitter,” you said,
“like life.”

Of course it was—
just a doppio,
barely kissed with milk.

I smiled, teasing,
“Is your life really that bitter?”

And just like that,
your eyes dropped,
your fingers found mine—
tangled,
quiet.

“Hmm... ever since you left.”

I whispered,
“I’m here now.”

And you—
you leaned in,
hid your face in the curve of my shoulder,
murmuring,
“Then don’t leave again.”

Something about that moment
lingered—
maybe it was the caffeine,
maybe it was your trembling voice,
or maybe
I just never got used to you—  
soft,
clinging,
like you thought
I might vanish
if you let go.