The Coffee That Knew My Name

Rain began while Yuna was walking home. She ran into a small café called Blue Door. It was her first time there. The room smelled like coffee and warm bread.

Before Yuna ordered, an old man behind the counter put down a cup. “Here you are, Yuna,” he said. Her name was written on the cup. Yuna stepped back. “How do you know my name?”

The man looked confused. Then he pointed to an old photo on the wall. A young woman stood in front of the same café. She looked just like Yuna, and her name tag said YUNA.

“That was my grandmother,” Yuna said. Her grandmother had died many years before. Yuna knew that she had worked at a café, but she did not know its name.

The man smiled. “She used to drink this coffee after work. You have the same face, and the same name. For one second, I thought she had come through the door again.”

Yuna tasted the coffee. It was sweet and warm. The rain stopped, but she stayed and listened to stories about her grandmother. The coffee did not really know her name. Somehow, it still felt like a message from the past.