You walk into Café Jacaranda in La Condesa exactly five minutes before seven o’clock, which is your quiet way of pretending you have some control over a life that rarely cooperates.
The air smells like fresh cinnamon and strong espresso. Soft golden lights cast a gentle glow over everything, making the world look kinder than it usually feels.
You choose a small table by the window, order chamomile tea because you want to seem calm even if you are not, and place your phone face-down on the table like it is some kind of good luck charm.
Your best friend Paola insisted this man was worth meeting. She described him as someone with kind eyes and a solid heart. A man who already deserves something good in his life.
You told her you were done with sweet words and complicated relationships and romantic games disguised as fate.
Paola just laughed and told you to show up for one coffee. If it went badly, you could blame her forever.
So you came. Not because you believe in fairy tales anymore, but because even heartbreak gets tiring after a while.
You glance at the time once. Then twice. Then you force yourself to stop checking because you refuse to feel like a woman sitting around waiting to be chosen.
The café hums with quiet conversation and the soft tapping of laptop keys. Couples lean close to each other. Strangers pretend they are not eavesdropping. A barista steams milk with the precision of a conductor leading a small orchestra.
You keep your face neutral and your posture relaxed, but your chest tightens anyway.
