Every Saturday, she sat in the same booth in the same corner of the café. Her name was Chloe. I remember because I always used to write her name on her drinks. She was slight with long dark hair that held her like a wooly blanket against the cold. Her petite button nose barely managed to hold up thick black rimmed glasses. Full ice blue eyes stared through the glass at the screen of her MacBook. Dainty, delicate fingers spilled out from her sweater’s sleeves to rattle endlessly across the keyboard. Every so often, she would bring a fist to her mouth, crinkling her black surgical mask into her dewy skin.

So many before had sat right beside her, even so in her booth. Trying and sometimes pleading with the attractive young girl to converse, to engage. I’d always thought Surely they’ve invaded her space.. Surely she’ll say something. But it seemed that nothing and no one could catch Chloe’s eye. No one was worth her pulling out her AirPods and spending her breath. Nothing was worth the wasted minutes that could be better used on her computer.

Every Saturday, she sat undisturbed for hours on end. Fingertips dancing across the keys at a speed most people barely considered possible. She’d pause only to sip her medium hot vanilla latte and then back to her work.

Years later, I found out that she was writing romance novels. Or rather, novels of almost romance. Of missed opportunities or close encounters. I often found myself, nosey as I am, thinking if they could have all been non-fiction. Based on true events. Chloe never tried to meet anyone; she only ever tried not to. She was inspired by the lack of the story instead of the story itself.

Her pieces have been gabbed over in best-sellers lists, in magazine articles, on forums across the internet. She became hugely popular for her work. It was an entirely different concept and it struck so hard with so many.

I frequently find myself recalling Chloe sitting in the corner of the café typing her heart away. Knowing what I know now, I wonder if she put her whole heart into it or if her heart wasn’t actually involved at all.