You feel a pang of heartache as the voices of the barista and courier travels towards you.
And when you lay eyes on them, it hurts even more.

You cannot remember them, not exactly, but there is something about their looks, their voices that makes you believe you've seen them before.

Shaun and Rebecca. You test the sound of their names by pronouncing them, softly, to yourself as you return to your workstation.

They haunt your dreams and your thoughts. Shaun specifically. You make sure to stop by his station every day.
You try out the coffee, but finds the man cannot make a decent cup.
So you buy tea the other days, wondering how someone who makes great tea but lousy coffee got a job as a barista.

You want to talk to him, but whatever you try to say, you always get short answers.
So you give up conversation.

You show up at the same time every day, and finds your regular cup of tea waiting for you.
You smile at him, thanks him, says his name for the first time.

Some emotion flickers in his eyes, there then gone.
You wonder why he looks so sad, and you want to ask him.

But you don't.

You take breaks more often than you did in the beginning, and take the elevaror to the lobby.
You don't buy something every time, but you walk around, pretending you're just stretching your legs.

He knows better, but you don't know that.

The sadness is frequent in his eyes when no one is looking.
And those sad eyes follow you around the room, often accompanied by worry.

In time, you feel you start to remember things, though you are not sure they are actually your memories.

But then you look at him, and you can feel those hands caress you as your vision blurs and the glass and steel and plants fade away and becomes ancient walls of stone instead.

The hairs on your arms and back of your neck rises as you feel the cold air wrap around you.

Do you really feel it, you wonder. Do you remember it?

In your dreams you feel rough walls against your back and a wet mouth on your own.
And when you awake, sweating, you wonder why you are dreaming these things.

You look at him, trying to find out why he seems familiar and why you dream about him.

You start to think that you once loved him. Not someone /like/ him, but him.

Maybe that is why you so clearly can see the sadness in him, because the man in front of you is someone you loved, but have forgotten about.

You say his name in a soft whisper that sounds more like a caress than anything.

And you finally understand.