Yesterday was November 28, 2025.

During my lunch break, I walked to that hotel again. Lately it feels like a small escape point for me a quiet place where I can slip out of the rhythm of the city and return to my own. And of course, the real reason: the latte the barista makes.

He prepares it as if he pours not just coffee into the cup, but a little attention, a little character. The foam is soft, the milk balanced, and even the smell carries the calm of a day that refuses to rush. Sometimes I think it’s not the coffee I’m attached to, but the connection to something touched by another human being.

I used to be very sensitive to milk as a child; my stomach reacted instantly. So latte was a forbidden drink for a long time. But recently, that old discomfort vanished. Maybe ...