Every morning at exactly 7:30, Rohan ordered two cups of tea.
He sat at the same café table by the window.
One cup for himself.
One across from him.
The staff assumed he was waiting for someone.
But nobody ever came.
This continued for six months.
One morning, a new waitress named Tara finally asked.
“Should I bring only one cup today?”
Rohan smiled.
“No. Two, please.”
Tara placed both cups down.
“Can I ask why?”
Rohan looked at the empty chair.
“My wife used to sit there.”
Tara immediately regretted asking.
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay.”
Rohan explained that his wife, Naina, had died after a sudden illness.
They had visited the café every Sunday for eight years.
After she died, Rohan began coming every morning.
“It feels less empty here,” he said.
Tara nodded.
Weeks passed.
She stopped asking questions.
But every morning she brought two cups.
One rainy Tuesday, Rohan did not come.
Nor Wednesday.
On Thursday, Tara grew worried.
The café owner had his phone number from an old reservation.
She called.
A man answered.
It was Rohan’s brother.
“He passed away yesterday,” he said softly.
Tara stood silently behind the counter.
The next morning at 7:30, she prepared two cups of tea.
She placed them on Rohan’s usual table.
The café owner watched.
“For whom?”
Tara looked at the two empty chairs.
“For two people who finally made it to the same table.”
She left the cups there until they went cold.