The café was almost empty.

Nomsa had chosen the table outside because the morning sun had finally chased away the winter chill.

She stirred her tea without drinking it.

An older man at the next table folded his newspaper and smiled.

“You’re looking at the menu like it’s asking difficult questions.”

Nomsa laughed.

“I’ve been deciding between two breakfasts for nearly ten minutes.”

“So order the third one.”

“There isn’t a third one.”

“There is if you ask.”

She looked at him.

“You’ve done this before.”

“Many times.”

The waiter wandered over.

“I’ll have the mushrooms on toast,” Nomsa said.

“And could you add avocado?”

“Of course.”

The waiter walked away.

“You were right,” she smiled.

“I usually am about breakfast.”

For a while they watched people pass.

A cyclist rang his bell.

Two schoolchildren argued cheerfully about whose turn it was to carry the cricket bat.

A dog decided the pigeons deserved another chance to fly.

“So…” the man said.

“What are you waiting for?”

Nomsa looked around.

“Me?”

“Yes.”

“I’m not waiting.”

“You’ve looked at your phone six times.”

“I have?”

“And you’ve watched every person who walked past.”

“I didn’t realise.”

He nodded.

“Neither do most people.”

She wrapped both hands around her mug.

“I suppose I feel like I’m waiting for something.”

“What?”

She smiled awkwardly.

“If I knew, I probably wouldn’t be waiting.”

The man laughed.

“Fair point.”

A breeze lifted a few leaves across the pavement.

After a while he asked,

“Have you ever planted tomatoes?”

“What?”

“Tomatoes.”

“No.”

“When you plant them, nothing happens for a while.”

“I imagine that’s how plants work.”

“It is.”

“But every morning people still go outside and look.”

“They know something is happening even when they can’t see it.”

Nomsa watched a bird hop between the tables.

“I’ve been worried because I don’t know what comes next.”

“Who told you that you were supposed to?”

She thought about that.

“No one.”

“Interesting.”

Another silence.

Comfortable this time.

“You know,” the man said quietly,

“Most of the happiest moments in my life weren’t planned.”

“No?”

“I wasn’t looking for my wife when we met.”

Nomsa smiled, a softer smile this time.

“The best job I ever had began because I got off the bus one stop too early.”

“You’re making that up.”

“I wish I were.”

She laughed.

“I think I’ve been trying very hard to have a plan.”

“There’s nothing wrong with plans.”

“No?”

“No.”

He picked up his cup.

“They just shouldn’t become so loud that you stop hearing invitations.”

Nomsa looked down the street.

People continued arriving.

Leaving.

Laughing.

Living ordinary lives.

“I think,” she said slowly,

“I’ve been calling uncertainty a problem.”

“And now?”

“Now…”

She smiled.

“I’m wondering if it’s an invitation.”

The man raised his cup.

“That’s a beautiful place to begin.”

Just then the waiter returned.

“Mushrooms on toast with avocado.”

Nomsa looked at the plate.

Then back at the empty chair.

The newspaper was gone.

So was the man.

Only the warmth of his untouched cup remained on the table.

She looked around the café.

No one seemed to have noticed him leave.

The waiter frowned.

“Everything alright?”

“Yes,” Nomsa said softly.

“I think I was just reminded of something.”

She picked up her fork.

Outside, a small bird landed on the edge of the table.

For a moment, they simply looked at one another.

Then, without hurrying, they both continued with their morning.