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"Because I know you." It’s probably one of the most intimate things one could say to another. It’s a simple sentence, almost ordinary, almost laughably small. I sent him a picture of the drinks my friend and I had, a matcha and a café latte. He asked, “Did your friend like the matcha?” Not even asking about the latte. When I asked how he knew I had the café latte, he said, “Because I know you, Mila.” Being known like that feels different, steady, uncomplicated. Like someone has been paying attention without announcing that they were, the way he remembers how I take my coffee without asking. It isn’t about the drink. It was never about the drink. It’s the small things that make me feel seen and remembered, the quiet evidence that I exist in his mind, that he has memorized the small, unremarkable pieces of me and kept them somewhere safe. As if remembering me was habit, as if knowing me was the most natural thing in the world. For a moment, suspended somewhere between that sentence and my own quiet smile, I wished I could stay there forever, up in the clouds where something so small could mean everything. M. | coffee & clouds February 2026


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