He Scrolled, She Watched…

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He Scrolled, She Watched... 

So, let me tell you what I saw the other day at the café. 

You’ll understand why I can’t stop thinking about it. 

It was... something else. I’m telling you, it was something else. 

They came in—a couple with a child. A small boy. A beautiful, young couple. 

I stopped. I stared. You know, I usually do stare a lot... I like to study people, you could say. 

The woman ordered their coffee. The man and child sat at a table, facing mine. 

Soon, the woman joined them. She placed their coffee on the table, steaming hot. 

She sat across the man, across their boy too. She pulled her cup of coffee close. 

Now let me know if I got it wrong all along. I could have. 

It’s funny, isn’t it? Cafés are supposed to be places to talk. Are they not? 

A thumb rule, you’d think. Perhaps... perhaps I got it wrong—someone correct me. 

Now, not this one. Well, not the man! 

Immediately they sat, he picked up his phone. He began to scroll. 

Immediately she placed the coffee, he grabbed his coffee; 

One hand on the phone, one hand around the coffee cup. 

He scrolled, he sipped, he scrolled, he sipped. 

The kid played with some toys; played, sipped, played, sipped. 

The woman; one hand around the coffee cup on the table, one on her lap, watched. 

He scrolled, the kid played, she stared at him, stared at him. 

She stared at him, her coffee still untouched. 

Not angry, no. Not yet. 

I couldn’t look away, no, no, I was inspired to look on, 

Too far gone to look away and not feel, there was something I was missing. 

He scrolled, the kid played, she looked at him, her coffee untouched. 

Hopeful... You could see it, you could read it in her face. 

Maybe, he’d look up. Put the phone away. Be hers. 

I could read her thoughts, it was easy, it was easy to read if you know women. 

But the screen had him. It had his eyes... or he could have seen. 

The kid started to tap on the table, tapping with a spoon, tapping it against the table like a metronome, keeping time for all the words unsaid—or were they about? 

I watched her watching him. 

Watched her hand grip the cup tighter, like she was squeezing something out of herself. 

The courage to speak, maybe. 

She didn’t. 

Instead, she sighed—a quiet exhale, soft as steam from the coffee. 

The kind of sigh you don’t hear, but you feel. 

And him? 

He didn’t notice. 

Didn’t even flinch. 

Watching her watching him scroll away on the phone, 

I could tell, I could tell she had words to say, somethings to share, 

I could tell she had hoped this would be the best place, the best moment. 

When she sighed, the sense came alive. 

A sense of fatigue, fatigued by his habit 

Of sitting there and scrolling. 

She watched him, he scrolled, she watched him, he sipped. 

She stared around, I stared down not to catch her gaze. 

She stared at him, then at her coffee, sighed again. 

I saw a longing in her eyes, she looked at him again 

Put one hand on her cheek while she leaned on the table. 

She stared at him, he scrolled, smiled to himself, something funny on the phone, 

She stared at him with longing. 

And he was there; she did not know how to have him when she already had him. 

Her eyes welled, but the tears just danced in her eyes. 

It was the longing, the desperation, how could she have him when she already had him? 

I could see she wanted him... she wanted him. 

Her lips opened, wanted to speak but what was she going to say? 

That she wanted him? That she needed him? That she wanted them to talk? 

That she longed for him? What would she say? And how would she say it? 

Her lips rather gaped, hung a bit and then shut. 

Her eyes were welling, he was scrolling, the child played oblivious to the hanging desperation. 

She looked around, this time, found my eyes, I looked away, she looked away. 

She shifted a bit in her seat, stared outside. 

She stood. She walked to his side of the table, leaned over the child. 

Checked the kid’s cup, maybe. 

But her eyes... 

Her eyes darted to his phone, quick, sharp and gone. 

A glance that asked a thousand questions. 

What... whatever she saw, it settled something in her. 

No betrayal there, not today. 

But it wasn’t enough to settle her desperate face. 

She went back to her seat. Picked up her coffee again. Sipped this time, finally. 

Her stare lingered on him, heavy with something I couldn’t name. 

It was longing. 

It was desperation. 

It wasn’t anger. 

It wasn’t sadness. 

It was the kind of things words cannot say, things you just... just feel. 

Finally, he looked up. 

Checked his watch. Looked around the room. 

Looked at her—barely. 

“It’s time to go,” he said. 

And that was it. Just that. 

He did not try to fill the silence, he did not try. He pocketed his phone. He stood. 

She sighed again, louder this time. 

Helped the kid gather their things. 

And they left. She left her cup of coffee barely touched. He did notice her cup of coffee, untouched. 

Together, but not together. 

And you know what? 

I couldn’t stop thinking about her. That woman. 

Oh me! The way she sat there, holding all that silence, hoping for something to change, 

Hoping for a word. 

Gosh! That glance, her glance at his phone, at him, felt like a battle she was already losing. 

Love sometimes looks like it’s waiting. 

But actually, it is straining, bending, slowly. 

And one day, it doesn’t spring back up. 

EzroniX Short Stories; How We Talk About Love.