Wounded Feelings… and a Cup of Coffee” ☕💔

“Wounded Feelings… and a Cup of Coffee”

 ☕💔

In the quiet corner of a small café on the edge of the city, Nada sat alone, staring into her cup of black coffee. She couldn’t bring herself to take the first sip. The sun was beginning to set, casting a warm orange glow through the window—soft light that seemed to echo the unrest inside her heart.

It had been a year since their last meeting…

When Salem sat across from her at this very table and said, in a voice barely above a whisper:

“Coffee hasn’t tasted the same since I realized you didn’t want me in your life anymore.”

She hadn’t responded.

Silence had been her answer… silence and the pain she hid behind a wall of pride.

Since then, coffee had become more than a drink to her—

It became a mirror of her emotions, a ritual of remembrance and quiet suffering.

Every morning, she brewed her cup the same way. She added sugar she didn’t need and convinced herself the taste had changed. But the truth was—it wasn’t the coffee…

It was her that had changed.

Now, seated again in that familiar café, as the sunset painted the city in gold, Nada finally took a full sip of her coffee—for the first time in months.

She closed her eyes and whispered to herself:

“Even if I’m wounded… I can heal. Coffee is bitter, but it wakes me up.”

She placed the cup down and wiped away the final tear.

She looked around—and realized this place no longer felt like it belonged to their memory.

It belonged to her now.

She stood up to leave.

But just as she turned toward the door, a familiar sound of footsteps echoed behind her.

She didn’t look back—but her heart skipped.

Then came that voice:

“Coffee still tastes the same without you… but I don’t.”

She slowly turned… and there he was—Salem—standing with a hesitant smile and a quiet regret in his eyes.

He sat without asking, just like old times, and softly said:

“I’m tired of pretending I forgot you… tired of every café table reminding me of you. Even the coffee—I drink it and imagine you sitting across from me.”

Nada didn’t speak.

This time, her tears weren’t from heartbreak… they were from something softer—something that felt like longing… and maybe even hope.

Then, with a small, teasing smile, she finally said:

“If we’re going to start over… we’ll need a different kind of coffee bean.”

They both laughed.

And in that moment, it wasn’t the taste of the coffee that mattered…

It was who shared it with you.