Coffee In Love
The Biker Who Always Ordered Two Coffees Every morning at 6:12 a.m., the bell above the diner door rang twice—once when it opened, once when it closed. And every single morning, the biker ordered two coffees. He wore a black leather jacket, faded denim, his helmet tucked under his arm. He never changed the order. “Two coffees. One black. One with cream.” The waitress, Lena, noticed before anyone else. At first, she thought he was waiting for someone—a friend running late, a riding partner stuck in traffic. But no one ever came. The second coffee always sat there, untouched, cooling. Other customers noticed too. Truckers joked, “Your buddy always ghost you?” The biker would just smile. “Something like that.” Lena had been working double shifts for three years. No breaks. No complaints. Her life had become a pattern just like his. Up at 4:30 a.m. Bus ride. Coffee smell soaked into her clothes. Feet aching by noon. She refilled mugs, wiped counters, smiled until her cheeks hurt. And ...