The Forgotten Bond

SONG

 Song pulled the tray out of the dishwasher, wiped it down and began to arrange the croissants nicely. With great care, she adjusted the pastries so that they were exactly the same distance apart. Once satisfied, she carried it to the counter and carefully pushed it into the display case, straightening what had slipped and wiping her hands on her apron.

"I'll open for business. Did you test the coffee machine?" her colleague asked as she walked past her, key jingeling in her hand.

"Yes, everything is already done." Song replied and looked at the time. 6:05 a.m. The first unmotivated customers trotted into the bakery, bought coffee and sandwiches. Some housewives came by to get bread. It was slowly getting brighter. Especially in the early morning hours, the light was changing almost every minute. An elderly lady, so short that she could barely see over the edge of the counter, asked Song what cakes were available today. She smiled and handed her the menu and kindly pointed out that cakes were only available from 10 a.m. and which would be on display today. The lady thanked her and left. The sun climbed up the windows of the office building on the other side of the plaza and warm light illuminated the saleroom. Song stepped out of the shop to open the umbrellas and wiping the chairs. It had rained last night. As she did every morning, she took a minute to take in the fresh morning air and look around. On her time off she would have never come to this part of the city. But every morning when she prepared the outdoor-area she was glad to be here because of work. She neither worked full-time in one of the high office buildings, nor did she visit the shopping center two streets down and from 10 o'clock it was getting too lively for her anyway. But before 10am this was a quiet and peaceful place. From 6 a.m. the employees went to work, each engrossed in their own business. And from 8 a.m. the streets between the skyscrapers were deserted. All the office people were at work and the mall wasn't open yet.

He would be here by 7:35 a.m.

At 7:33 a.m. Song put a mug in the coffee maker, ground the beans with an electric grinder, and began preparing the Americano. While the water was heating up and her colleague was looking after the customers, Song took a Danish from the display, put it on a plate and prepared the tray. She nervously tugged her hair behind her ears. She hadn't noticed since when his visits had started making her nervous. Or when she began preparing his order in advance. He stopped by the little bakery every day. Since she'd been working here, not a day had passed that he wasn't at the checkout at 7:35 a.m., ordering an Americano and a Danish. And despite the fact that all the other office clerks were in a hurry and always took everything to go, this one guest always took the 15 minutes to drink his coffee inhouse peacefully. And two days ago he even said her name. Which proved that the interest must be mutual. It had taken three months, but two days ago he had said her name for the first time. On the very day she had been ill. Her colleague told her about it yesterday: "This man who comes by every morning. Well, you know, the office guy who keeps sitting down like he's got nothing else to do. What about him? Oh, yeah. He asked where you were!" Song almost dropped dead when she heard that. Because she looked forward to seeing this customer every morning. Every day she was excited about the 2 minute interaction they would have. She would schedule bathroom breaks accordingly so that she doesn't miss him. You could even go so far as to say that those 2 minutes a day were the only reason she did this job. Because she certainly wasn't dependent on the money. But that wasn't entirely true. After all, she hadn't known then that she would meet him every day. No, this job served an entirely different purpose.

"You're back! Good to see you up and healthy again." said a man's voice and Song flinched noticeably. She looked up. In front of her stood a tall man. She estimated his age at about 33. It was difficult to guess. His familiar sight made her face flush. He was wearing a suit, a leather bag slung over his shoulder, and frameless glasses rested on his nose. His hair was short and dark, cropped at the ears and slightly too long at the nape of his neck. Did he delay the time until his next visit to the hairdresser by cutting his own contours at home?