Every Sunday, at exactly 7:15 pm, an old man walked into the same restaurant and asked for a table for two.
The staff had stopped asking questions.
He always chose the table beside the window, ordered two cups of tea and one plate of almond biscuits, and placed the second cup opposite him.
For almost a year, nobody had seen anyone join him.
The waiters had their theories. Perhaps his wife had passed away. Perhaps he was waiting for someone who lived abroad. Perhaps it was simply an old habit he couldn’t bring himself to break.
One Sunday, a new waitress named Meera was assigned his table.
She watched him arrange the biscuits carefully on a small plate. He checked the time twice, looked towards the entrance and then unfolded a newspaper.
“Would you like me to clear the second cup, sir?” she asked gently, after nearly an hour had passed.
He looked up.
“No, thank you. She’s usually late.”
Meera nodded, embarrassed by her curiosity.
The following Sunday, she brought him his tea without asking. He smiled and thanked her.
A few weeks later, she gathered the courage to ask, “Does she travel a lot?”
The old man folded his newspaper.
“She used to.”
Meera didn’t ask anything more.
Winter arrived. Then spring. The second cup continued to sit opposite him, untouched.
One Sunday, he didn’t come.
Nor the Sunday after that.
Meera assumed he was unwell. She even asked the manager if they had his contact details, but the restaurant had never taken them.
Three weeks later, a young woman walked in carrying a small brown envelope.
“Was there an old gentleman who came here every Sunday?” she asked.
Meera recognised the description immediately.
The woman placed the envelope on the table beside the window.
“He was my father,” she said. “I found this among his things.”
Inside was a photograph of a little girl sitting on the same restaurant chair, wearing a yellow dress and holding a biscuit in each hand.
On the back, in faded handwriting, were the words:
Our first Sunday. You said we’d come here every week.
The young woman stood quietly for a moment.
Then she asked Meera for two cups of tea.
“Would you like anything with that?” Meera asked.
The woman looked at the empty chair opposite her.
“Almond biscuits, please.”
And for the first time in almost a year, someone sat down at the old man’s table without being expected to arrive.
Note: This is an original work of fiction by Anamika Mishra (www.anamikamishra.com), do not repost/reuse/sell without permission.