She stops for coffee

Emma was making good time on her way to the university. So, rather than settle for mediocre office coffee, she could get a quality cup at her favorite coffee house.

Emma approached the glass doors of Café Aliado, the familiar hum of conversation and the tantalizing scent of freshly ground coffee drifting through the thin air of early morning. Her breath caught for a moment, like it always did when she arrived here. It was a quiet kind of magic that filled her chest with warmth—this place, its patrons, the soft chime of the bell above the door as she pushed it open.

She caught her reflection in the window, her dirty blonde hair cascading in gentle waves around her shoulders, a few strands catching the light and glimmering gold. Her makeup carefully done, but not too much. It was a practiced look, one she’d perfected over years of trial and error, each layer of mascara, each flick of eyeliner telling a story of who she had become.

She entered, and the soft murmur of the café embraced her like an old friend. It wasn’t crowded, just a few regulars scattered around, their faces soft with familiarity, their laughter warm and easy. The eclectic décor—the mismatched tables, the shelves lined with books and plants—gave the space an atmosphere that was inviting, intimate. Pride flags and cheesy political bumper stickers spattered the walls. This was a safe space for all people. It was the perfect place for a slow morning, with no expectations, just the kind of refuge that made her feel at ease.

At the counter stood a barista she had seen a few times before. She was young, with a nose ring and a bright smile that Emma could swear had the warmth of summer sunlight. The young woman was expertly working with the espresso machine, her movements fluid and practiced. She looked up when Emma approached, her lips curving into a welcoming smile.

“¡Buenas! What can I get for you today?” the barista asked, her voice smooth, like she was already in the rhythm of the café’s gentle pulse.

“A triple shot iced mocha, with almond milk, two pumps of hazelnut, one pump of vanilla. Hold the whipped cream please,” Emma said, her voice matching the cheery calm of the young barista, though the number of ingredients made her laugh quietly to herself.

The barista chuckled, nodding. “Emma right? The usual coming right up.”

As the barista worked, Emma leaned against the counter, her fingers tracing the smooth edge of her phone case, the calming rhythm of the espresso machine’s hum filling the space between them. The quiet moments were always the best—the little pauses where time felt like it slowed down, when she could just breathe and not worry about anything.

“So,” the barista said after a moment, her voice softer now, almost conspiratorial. “How’s your day going so far? Anything exciting on the horizon?”

Emma’s eyes flickered to the barista, noticing how she tilted her head in a way that made her seem both genuine and curious. It wasn’t the usual **** pleasantries she was accustomed to hearing. This felt real.

She smiled, feeling the familiar stir of nerves. “Nothing too exciting, I’m on my way to work. I’m a research assistant up at Harkon. Pretty low-key, just another day of cleaning lab equipment and filling out spreadsheets.”

“Research?” The barista’s eyebrows arched with interest. “That sounds intriguing. What do you study?”

Emma’s heart warmed at the enthusiasm in her voice. She was always quick to downplay her interests when in casual conversation, but she truly loved talking about her work. How every day brought new discoveries, how the process of research, of seeking answers to questions no one had asked yet, was so deeply fulfilling. “I specialize in genetic modification, actually. I’m working on a project that could potentially help with crop resistance. We’re studying how certain plants adapt to **** weather conditions.”

The barista’s eyes lit up, impressed. “That sounds incredible. You must be brilliant.”

Emma laughed, a soft blush creeping into her cheeks. “I’m just doing my part. There are a lot of more experienced scientists doing the bulk of the cool work. But it’s nice to contribute to real, impactful science even if it’s a student role.”

The barista nodded. “Cielos. You are too hard on yourself. Your research sounds fascinating! I’m sure your hard work is appreciated.” She finished preparing the drink and placed the cup in front of Emma, her hands brushing lightly against hers in the exchange. “Here you go. One triple shot iced mocha, almond milk, two hazelnut, one vanilla, hold the whipped cream, y una bomba de bondad.”

Emma’s smile widened. “I’ll take the kindness any day.”

The barista laughed, and the sound was like a melody, light and carefree. “It’s free of charge. Enjoy your drink, Emma. I hope your day goes as smoothly as that coffee.”

Emma wrapped her fingers around the cold cup, the warmth of the whipped cream seeping into her hands. She felt lighter, like the world had just tilted slightly in her favor. “Thank you,” she said, her voice sincere. “I’m sure it will. And maybe I’ll see you around here again soon?”

“Definitely,” the barista said, giving her a wink.

With that, Emma gave a small wave and turned toward the door, her heart light, her spirit lifted by the kindness of a near-stranger who felt less like one and more like a moment of connection. As the door swung open, she stepped out into the crisp morning air, the weight of her work ahead of her still lingering, but not heavy. The scent of coffee clung to her skin as she walked down the street, the rhythm of her footsteps steady and sure.

By the time she reached Harkon University, the morning sun had begun to climb higher, casting its golden light across the sprawling campus. Her mind shifted into work mode, her thoughts already back on the lab, on the project that had consumed her for months. She loved it, every complicated detail of it. But for now, she carried with her the warmth of the café and a pleasant exchange. Hints of hope lingered in the still morning air, as she faced towards her future with a jolt of caffeine and a confident strut.

*y una bomba de bondad — and one pump of kindness*