Familiar Strangers

By Gazala Ahmed

In a corner booth,  

the café breathes,  

the hum of voices  

blending with the clink of cups.  

I am cocooned in work,  

words on a screen  

a fortress of distraction,  

unaware of his gaze,  

a quiet storm from across the room.  

Time has carved lines  

into familiar features,  

but the essence remains—  

an echo of laughter,  

the warmth of shared moments,  

now just a memory  

drifting like steam  

from my cup.  

I lift my eyes,  

and there he is,  

a flicker of recognition,  

a jolt in the air,  

as if the past has folded itself  

into the present.  

But the world pulls me back,  

into deadlines and duties,  

while he watches,  

the space between us thick with unspoken words,  

a longing that dances in the silence.  

I sip my coffee,  

the bittersweet taste  

reminding me of all that was,  

of paths crossed,  

now separate yet so near.  

In this moment,  

we are two souls adrift,  

sharing a room,  

but not quite touching,  

lost in what was,  

and what could have been.

By Gazala Ahmed