Cardamom Café – Part 1: The Corner Table

The café in Kadıköy had six tables, a brass coffee pot that Selin polished every morning, and a window that looked out on the ferries crossing from Eminönü. She knew every regular by their order: sugar, no sugar, a little milk, extra cardamom. Everyone except the man at the corner table.

He came every weekday at eight. He ordered Turkish coffee, unsweetened, and a single simit, and then he opened a sketchbook and drew the ferries for an hour. He never said his name. He always left exact change under the saucer.

"He's a ghost," said Ayşe, who helped with the morning rush.

"He's an architect," said Selin. "I saw the blueprint tube under his chair."

"Then ask him what he's building."

"I'm not going to ask a stranger what he's building."

But that Thursday, when the rain came down over the Bosphorus and the café was almost empty, Selin carried a cup of coffee to his table and set it down without a word. He looked up, startled, and then at the cup, and then at her.

"I didn't order this," he said, in careful Turkish.

"You order the same thing every day," said Selin, in Turkish too. "Today it's cardamom. You can tell me if it's wrong."

He took a sip. His eyebrows lifted. "It's perfect," he said.

"It's the secret ingredient."

"Which is?"

"Patience," said Selin, and sat down on the chair opposite him before she could think better of it.

He laughed, quietly, surprised. "I'm Kaan," he said. "I design libraries. Well, I'm trying to design one. The city keeps rejecting my plans for the ferry terminal."

"Why?"

"They say the windows let in too much light."

"Then they've never been in a café with a view like this one," said Selin, and nodded towards the window, where a ferry was sliding slowly across the grey water.

Kaan turned to look. He was quiet for a long moment.

"Can I ask you something?" he said.

"Yes."

"Why did you bring me a coffee? I've been coming here for a year, and you've never once looked at me."

Selin's cheeks warmed. "Because I wanted to find out if you'd say your name," she said honestly. "And you did."

He smiled, slow and warm. "Can I ask you something else?"

"Yes."

"Would you let me show you the library drawings, tomorrow, at this same table, with the coffee on me this time?"

Selin's heart gave a quick, hopeful jump. "Yes," she said. "But only if you let me critique the windows."

"Deal," said Kaan, laughing. "Green?"

"Green," said Selin, and stood, smiling. "Very green. Bring the drawings, Kaan, and I'll bring the cardamom."