Midnight Brew

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Story Title: “Midnight Brew”

It was just past midnight when Noor unlocked the doors of her tiny rooftop café in Riyadh. While the rest of the city slept, a quiet hum of jazz music played inside, and the scent of cardamom coffee filled the air.

She opened late only on Thursdays—for the dreamers, the writers, the hearts too full to sleep.

That night, an elderly man came in, carrying nothing but a leather-bound notebook and a tired smile. He ordered Turkish coffee, strong and sweet, and sat near the window where the moonlight painted silver patterns on the floor.

After a while, Noor approached him and asked gently,

“What brings you here at this hour?”

He replied without looking up,

“I used to come here with my wife. We used to talk about everything—politics, poetry, plans for retirement. She passed away last winter… but I still come. I guess some habits aren’t meant to break.”

Noor placed a second cup in front of the empty seat across from him.

“Then let her stay,” she whispered.

And for the rest of the night, the man spoke softly into the silence, as if she were still there, sipping beside him.