She was in the cafe nearly everyday.
She didn't think I'd noticed, but I had. The first time I saw her, I couldn't help but think how beautiful she was. Her hair was long and curly, a dark chocolate colour that owed everything and nothing to the light. When the light fell on her hair, it shone as though it had its own light, and when she passed under a shadow her hair seemed to glow in the darkness. I wanted nothing more than to reach out and run my fingers through it.
We were opposite sides of the counter, her the customer and me the barista. When she asked for her food, she did so shyly and with her eyes cast down so that I didn't see their colour. She nibbled her top lip, nervously. Her long lashes cast intricate shadows on her pale cheeks.
The next day, she came again. I noticed her and smiled, but she kept her eyes cast down.
It was 2 weeks before I saw the colour of her eyes. They were the clearest blue, like the sky on a summer's day in Switzerland, with a collection of dark lashes framing them perfectly. This time when she approached the counter, she dared to look up at me and I saw them. It made me smile in a way that felt like I had no choice in it, entirely instinctively. Her smile in return was tentative and she glanced down once more.
Sometimes she could come into the cafe and meet people, sometimes she was alone. When I saw her with her friends, she was animated and joyous. She wasn't shy or quiet, full lips forming a perfect grin with barely a pause. I came to know the way she would react to each person before she did it. I knew by the way she sat, the things she ordered, whether someone was meeting her or not.
She didn't think I saw her watch me.
Every now and then, I would look up and see her looking in my direction. At first, I thought it was just that she was thinking about ordering something else. But the more I watched her, the more she watched me, even as I moved around the room. I saw her watching when I cleared tables, and when I wasn't the one serving her she still looked at me, though never long enough to let anyone catch her, or so she thought.
Over the next few months, she became confident enough that she could maintain eye contact when she ordered. She thought I smiled at everyone, but my smile was just that tiny bit wider with her. I wanted to ask her out, but I was too shy, worried she might have a boyfriend or that she would say no. I worried it wasn't appropriate.
Some days I saw her perfect blue eyes turn sad, and I wanted to cheer her up. I couldn't bring myself to break that barrier, the one that the counter represented. I watched her for several months, wishing I had the courage.
Then one day, I didn't see her. Nor the next, nor the next.
The beautiful girl didn't return to the cafe. I wondered what had happened to her, feeling as though she had been a friend and not just someone I'd served, absurd as it was. I missed seeing her light up when she spoke to friends and light up the room in return. I missed seeing her.
