The Strawberry CakeEvery day at 5pm the same boy comes into my families’ café and sits on the same chair near the same window.More Like This
We don’t talk much.
“The same as always?” I would say.
“Yeah” He would reply, catching my eyes with his before looking back down at his phone.
He has tanned skin and wild white hair that sticks out in spikes in all different directions. And his eyes… His eyes were that of a demon’s; bright red and luring, they would often catch me staring.
He ordered the same thing every day too: a cup of black coffee and a slice of strawberry cake which I would take to him every day.
He would always drink his coffee, never leaving the slightest dribble left. But he NEVER ate his cake. He would always eat the strawberry at the top and leave the rest. Then he would pay for his food, leave me an average tip and would never leave after 5:30.
I wouldn’t usually be annoyed by this sort of situation but the thing is that I make the strawberr