The Smell of Morning Coffee

The café was still half asleep when Anna arrived. The chairs were stacked against the wall, and the faint aroma of roasted beans filled the quiet air. She loved this hour before the rush, before the noise, when everything still belonged to stillness.

Mr. Tuan, the old owner, nodded at her from behind the counter. “You’re early again,” he said with a smile. His hands moved slowly but surely, like someone who had spent his life measuring out happiness in teaspoons of sugar and coffee grounds.

Anna sat by the window. Outside, the first bus of the day sighed to a stop, letting out a handful of drowsy passengers. A young boy in a school uniform ran to keep up with his mother. An old woman fed the pigeons with quiet devotion. The city, she thought, always woke in fragments.

Her phone buzzed another message from the office. She muted it. The world could wait for ten minutes more.

Mr. Tuan brought her a cup without asking. “You always take it the same way,” he said, setting it down gently. “No sugar, just milk. It tastes honest that way.”

Anna smiled. “I like the way you say that. Honest coffee.”

He chuckled softly. “Life’s like coffee. Bitter when it’s real. Sweet when you’re pretending.”

For a while, neither spoke. The light outside changed slowly from gray to gold. Dust danced in the beams like tiny spirits. Anna took her first sip and closed her eyes. The warmth spread through her like a memory she couldn’t quite name.

When she opened them, she saw a small folded paper napkin on the table. On it, in careful handwriting, were the words: *“Take your time. The world will still be here when you’re ready.”*

She looked up, but Mr. Tuan had gone back to the counter, humming to himself as he wiped a glass. She didn’t ask him about the note. She didn’t need to.

That morning, Anna didn’t rush to work. She watched the sunlight climb the buildings, watched strangers become silhouettes of quiet grace. For the first time in months, she breathed without a clock in her chest.

And somehow, that simple cup of coffee felt like a small promise that maybe, just maybe, the day could still be kind.