There was this small restaurant I visited almost every morning, on my way to work partly for the tea they brewed, but mostly because of “her” the other waiter. She wasn’t the one calling out orders or making tea but she was the one moving quietly between tables, carrying a tray and a smile that could light up the whole shop. She had this natural brightness and aura to her, like she carried her own unique sunshine. You always noticed her, even amongst a crowd of people she stood out. And every time she walked by, I thought about saying something more than thanks. But the words never came. Courage always clocked out early. One day, my usual seat was taken, and before I could leave, she stepped up with that familiar glowing smile and said Window-seat person, right? There’s space near the bookshelf and I nodded, and she led the way. As you sat, she added, You’re always writing in that notebook, what are you always writing? I’ve always been curious. For once, my voice didn’t fail me. Yeah just short stories. I said. Her smile widened. I’d love to read one someday. And just like that, the door I never opened myself opened anyway. I didn’t ask her out. I didn’t need to. I gained something better first a real, warm connection, that was not forecd. Sometimes the best stories don’t start with grand gestures. They start with a smile, a shared moment, and the courage to say just one honest sentence.