Chapter Text
Maya loved Saturday mornings.
They were her secret refuge, that suspended time when the world slowed down and she could finally breathe. The city, usually hectic, seemed to stretch out with her, as if even the streets and trees knew she was allowed to take a break.
Every Saturday followed her own ritual: she woke up early, let the morning light filter through the sheer curtains of her window, then slipped into her comfortable jeans, a soft sweater, and walked down the road to the café on the corner. That, in her opinion, was the perfect final destination. Not for the coffee – although it was good – but for the tiramisu. The one they made there was, without a shadow of a doubt, the best she had ever tasted. Soft, balanced, with that touch of cocoa that melted on the palate and made every bite a moment of pure bliss.
That mid-March morning, the sky was clear and the air still carried the crisp touch of winter. Maya walked with a light step, a smile on her lips and her hands deep in the pockets of her coat. As she entered the café, a bell rang above the door, as always, and the familiar aroma of coffee wrapped around her senses.
She was about to head, as usual, to the counter, when she felt a slight, almost accidental bump.
“Sorry,” Maya said immediately, turning around.
In front of her was a girl with brown hair, gathered in a messy braid that slid over her right shoulder. She wore a light coat and a surprised expression.
“Watch where you're going. Are you blind or something?” the girl said – but not meanly. Her voice, in fact, sounded more ironic than anything.
Maya blushed. “Actually, yes.”
There was a moment of silence. The girl’s eyes widened, visibly embarrassed. “Oh… I… I didn’t mean—”
“It’s okay, I’m used to it,” Maya said with a small smile, trying to ease the tension.
The two walked together to the counter, though neither seemed completely at ease. Maya ordered her usual: “Good morning, the usual tiramisu and an orange juice.”
“Good morning, coming right up. I’ll take you to your table in the meantime,” said a kind voice from behind the counter.
One thing Maya loved about that café was how the staff had come to know her and respected her pace, never making her feel like a burden. They always offered her favorite table – the one by the window.
But that morning, something new happened.
As one of the girls from the café escorted her to the table, she returned to the counter and spoke quietly to the blonde girl. “Your order has been paid for. You can sit with her, if you want.”
With a barely noticeable hesitation, the girl – Carina, that was her name – approached Maya.
“Hey, I’m really sorry about earlier. I didn’t realize, and I’m usually not that… clumsy.”
Maya smiled. “Don’t worry. Want to sit down? I wouldn’t mind some company.”
Carina accepted and sat across from her. Maya listened carefully to the small sounds: the chair scraping on the floor, the soft rustle of clothes, the way Carina inhaled before speaking. Everything spoke of a kind person, if a little awkward.
After a few minutes, their orders arrived.
“Can I ask you something?” Maya said, almost in a whisper.
“Of course. Go ahead.”
“What color are your eyes?”
Carina was taken aback. No one had ever asked her that with such sincerity. Usually, people were too busy looking at her, judging her, labeling her. But that question… it was different. It came from someone who couldn’t see, but who seemed to truly want to know her.
“Brown. But not too dark.”
Maya nodded slowly, as if that detail carried special meaning. “I like that. It suits you.”
Carina smiled, surprised by how much she was enjoying talking to this stranger. She felt like she had just met her, but there was something inexplicably familiar about her.
“Do you have a dream?” Maya asked.
Carina was silent for a few seconds. “Maybe… maybe I want to find my place in the world. And someone who sees me for who I am.”
Maya lowered her head, then said softly, “I can’t see you, fortunately. But I can feel you.”
Carina looked at her in silence. Those words hit her deeply, more than she wanted to admit.
“And I’m sure you’ll find your place in the world soon,” Maya added.
During that half-hour, they talked about music, books, trips never taken but often imagined. When Maya got up to leave, Carina offered to walk her to the door. Maya accepted.
“Can I see you next Saturday?” Carina asked, almost holding her breath.
Maya didn’t answer right away. Then, with a smile that could almost be felt in the air, she said, “Of course. I’d like that.”
Carina nodded, and as Maya walked away, she realized she was already looking forward to Saturday. For Maya.
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The days between one Saturday and the next always seemed longer now.
Carina noticed it as she returned to her usual rhythm: waking up too early, university classes that all felt the same, messages she didn’t feel like answering, light chatter that didn’t touch her.
But every now and then, in the most unexpected moments – while grocery shopping, waiting for the light to turn green, or lying in bed at night – she would think of Maya. Her calm voice, her measured words, the way she seemed to perceive the world with a sensitivity that was new to Carina – and fascinating.
She had said: “I can’t see you, fortunately. But I can feel you.”
Carina couldn’t explain why those words kept echoing inside her. Maybe because no one had ever truly “felt” her. Or maybe because, in those few phrases, Maya had said more than others had in entire conversations.
Saturday returned more slowly than usual, as if the universe was toying with her patience. When it finally came, Carina woke up earlier than expected. She stood in front of her closet, hesitant. She wasn’t the type to fuss over what to wear, but for some reason, it mattered. She chose a mustard-colored sweater and light jeans. Then, like a child preparing for her first day of school, she looked in the mirror and smiled to herself. “It’s just coffee. Just a chat.”
But she knew it wasn’t “just” anything.
Meanwhile, Maya prepared herself with calm movements. She knew exactly what to wear, how to tie her hair, which scarf to choose to guard against the wind. But what made her nervous – and somehow happy – was the anticipation. There was something new in the way she awaited that Saturday. Something to do with Carina.
She had thought a thousand times about the tone of her voice, the surprise she had sensed when asking about her eye color. She had smiled remembering her laughter – so sincere, so alive – and sometimes wondered if Carina was waiting for this moment with the same eagerness.
When she arrived at the café, it was busier than usual. Maya heard the murmur of voices, the laughter, the rhythmic clinking of cups on saucers. She made her way slowly to the counter, where the usual girl greeted her with the same kindness.
“Good morning, Maya. The usual table?”
“Yes, thank you. Maybe near the wall today. A bit quieter.”
“Right away.”
She sat down and, for a moment, just listened. The muffled chatter, the scent of vanilla and coffee, the sound of someone typing on a laptop. Every sound was familiar. Only one thing was missing.
“Hey.”
The voice was soft, a bit lower than usual, almost shy. But Maya recognized it immediately.
“Carina.”
“May I?”
“Of course.”
The girl sat across from her. Her hands were wrapped around a cup of tea that smelled of mint and lemon. For a few seconds, neither of them spoke. But it wasn’t an awkward silence. It was… suspended. As if each was trying to read the other, in her own way.
“I was waiting for you,” Maya said.
“I was too,” Carina replied, eyes on her cup.
Maya smiled. “How was your week?”
And from there, slowly, another world opened up. They talked for hours without even realizing it. About little things: the new book Maya was listening to as an audiobook, an interesting person Carina had met during a lecture, a movie that had made her cry. These weren’t “big” things, yet each one dug a little deeper into the trust between them.
At one point, Carina asked a timid question: “Can I ask how you know… all the things you do?”
“What do you mean?”
“How you understand people so quickly. How you feel so… much.”
Maya thought for a moment. “Maybe because I can’t see. It forces me to slow down. To notice what others ignore. The silences, the breaths, the hesitations. The words left unsaid.”
Carina was struck. No one had ever said anything like that to her. She felt… seen. Paradoxical, maybe. But true.
Time passed quickly, yet slowly in the heart. Every minute seemed to matter, even though nothing dramatic happened. No touch. No declaration. Just two people getting to know each other, one Saturday at a time.
When the sky began to turn orange, Maya stood up.
“Can I walk you?” Carina asked.
“I’d like that.”
They walked side by side to the crosswalk. Maya with her folding cane in her right hand, Carina matching her pace carefully, without pushing. Just a quiet presence.
“Do you feel like walking a bit more?”
“Where to?”
“I don’t know. Anywhere.”
Maya smiled. “Anywhere sounds good.”
And so, they walked through the neighborhood streets, aimlessly. Slowly. Unhurried.