The Strand Between Us

Robert sat by the window of his favorite coffee shop, stirring his drink absentmindedly as the late afternoon sun bathed the wooden floors in a golden hue. He wasn’t paying attention to the chatter around him, nor the barista calling out orders. His eyes were drawn, as they always were, to the girl sitting a few tables away.

She was breathtaking in the simplest way—a quiet presence that demanded attention without trying. Her hair was impossibly long, jet-black, cascading down her back in a sleek, silken sheet. Every time she shifted, the strands moved like liquid, catching the light in subtle waves.

He’d never spoken to her. Not once. But every day, she sat there, sipping tea and flipping through a book, and every day, he found himself watching the way she absentmindedly played with a lock of her hair, twisting it between her fingers or letting it fall over her shoulder. It was hypnotic.

Today, though, something different happened. As she reached for her cup, a single strand of hair drifted onto the table, barely noticeable. But she noticed it. She plucked it up delicately, about to brush it away, when she glanced up—and caught him staring.

His breath hitched. He was caught.

But instead of looking annoyed, she smiled. A small, knowing smile.

And then, to his surprise, she held up the strand of hair between two fingers and, with a slight tilt of her head, let it drift onto his table.

It was an invitation.

Heart pounding, he hesitated only for a moment before reaching forward and picking up the delicate strand. It was softer than silk between his fingers. He looked back up at her, unsure of what to say.

She leaned in slightly, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Now you have a piece of me. What will you do with it?"

Robert swallowed hard, a smile creeping onto his lips.

"I guess I should start by learning your name."

She laughed, a soft, melodic sound, and tucked another strand of hair behind her ear before answering.

And just like that, the space between them vanished.