Cerelia

Published by Lobster Tail at November 16, 2025

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I fell in love when I first spoke with her.

She sits by the window and sips a cappuccino, always in the same seat. Her regular spot. She wears a knitted scarf and a melancholic look in her eyes as she watches people passing on the streets. She moves from conversation to conversation, chatting with people — anybody and everybody — with this delightful curiosity and compassion I’ve come to love in her.

Her searching gaze makes me wonder: Is she looking for someone?

I know I am.

I’m looking for her.

“You’ve been looking at her for a while now,” my co-worker says, nudging my side. “She caught your fancy?”

I looked at them, keeping my tone flat and working to keep the flush from my cheeks. “No, not really.” I lie as naturally as one breathes. Then I shrug and step away. “She orders the same thing everyday. Just wonder why someone wants the same routine.”

For that, my co-worker looks at me as if I’ve lost touch with reality. “This is the first time she’s come here. That face — I’d never forget seeing it before, especially where I come every day!” they whispered to me.

I know she’s amazing; that’s why I’m watching her. Everything she does could reveal some secret. Her eyes may never meet mine at the altar in every time loop, but I am going to do everything I can to get to her and be with her in some reality.

“Hmm, yeah.” I leave it at that. No one would get what I’m saying anyway. Not in the first time loop, not in the tenth, and certainly not in this one. Was I cursed by the devil or some witch who hated my guts before my path crossed with the woman of my dreams? Don’t witches usually tell you when they’ve cursed you? A heads-up would have been nice. I could’ve prepared.

Sighing, I look back at her.

I know her well; I’ve even met her parents a few times. It never ceases to disappoint me that she doesn’t remember me, too. Even though I know she won’t. She can’t.

I’ve gone through many loops, some of which I caused on purpose when I’ve made mistakes in my interactions or choices regarding her. I love her. I just want the best for her.

When she finishes her cup, she doesn’t immediately leave. I’ve memorized her schedule for this entire week. Call me a stalker if you must, but she’s the reason why I keep traveling back to this day: the day before I met her and fell in love at first conversation.

I have considered changing time so that I never meet her, but my heart aches at the thought. And it only leads me back to the start of this time loop wildness if I don’t talk to her anyway. And now I can never forget her.

I may only ever narrate this to myself, but it helps to keep me thinking clearly and allows me to remember all the facts. Through it all, though, I try not to remember why time keeps looping back here.

I don’t remember how many times I’ve awakened to find myself in the break room of the café. If not for my love for her. And I would’ve gone insane by now. I’m sure that losing my mind would trigger the time loop. Again.

No matter how many times I restart the days and weeks and months and years, the effort I spend on preventing her untimely death has the same finale: I will always end up here, watching her take a sip, finishing the cup, and staying for another hour before she disappears into her life.

Our conversations have become predictable by now. She has become predictable.

The repetition of a moment is only so thrilling after the fourth or fifth time loop. Inevitably despair sinks into your soul when you realize you can’t change the future and that you are eternally stuck in both the past and present at once — with no future.

Still, I look forward to talking to her even though I know what she’s going to say. My mind has grown weary of the echo of time but my heart continues to chase after her. She is the light of my life even if I may lose my sanity because of trying to make my way to her.

Taking a freshly brewed cup of cappuccino with me, I stride to her seat and place it on the table in front of her. Those intense eyes shift from gazing outside to focus on me.

“On the house,” I say, cutting off any chance she has to speak. “You looked bored sitting here, so I figured you might want a drink to cheer you up.”

She blinks. “Oh, thank you. I wasn’t expecting this… Uh…” She blushes lightly with that same pretty pink I’ve grown accustomed to flooding her cheeks when she’s embarrassed.

“Delano. It’s on my name tag.”

“Cerelia. Nice to meet you.” She lifts the cup, looking at it then back to me. “Have we met before? You seem really familiar.”

Huh?

“Wait, sorry. Was that too forward?” Cerelia laughs. A sound I’ve missed hearing. “I’m not trying to flirt with you right after you gave me coffee, I swear! It’s, well, I don’t know. You just look like someone I once knew. I think.”

This conversation has never happened before.

Cerelia sips some more while she twirls her curly red hair. Up close, those ocean blue eyes no longer seem so sad. “I’m rambling. I’m sorry. I talk a lot!” I knew this about her — and I kind of like it.

What I don’t know is why my dear Cerelia says something new. Has something changed in this time loop somehow? It should be you asking me if I’m trying to flirt with you — not the other way around!

“No, it’s fine. It’s nice to meet you, too.” I’m at a loss for words. Could this be? Could something have really changed? If so, what? And can I replicate it?

“I know it’s on the house and all, but I feel kinda bad for receiving a free drink just because I looked ‘bored’. Mind if I treat you back, Delano?”

This conversation shouldn’t happen. What could it mean? What did I do differently? Or what did someone else do?

“Sure, Cerelia,” I grin. “Can you buy me a pizza from that restaurant in Saturn Street called—”

“Oh! You know that place too?!” She exclaims, giggling awkwardly a second after. “Sorry. I thought it was just me who knew about that little hole in the wall!”

Of course I know it. You introduced me to the place.

“Yeah, I do! It’s more expensive than this cappuccino I brought you. Like, come on! It’s a pizza,” I reply with a grin, never taking my eyes off of her. “But obviously, that’s not a ‘fair trade.’ So, let’s start with you not continuing to apologize to me.”

Cerelia laughs again. Am I that funny? “Sor— Oops, almost said it again. It’s a habit, okay? I even say that to my furniture when I bump into it.”

“You’re a klutz like always.”

“Always?”

I think I keep the blush from rising in my cheeks. “Anyways… Here’s my number. Just call me when you feel like treating me.” I jot down my number for her.

She smiles as she takes the piece of paper from my hand. “You still haven’t answered if you know me or if I’m experiencing some kind of weird déjà vu.”

We’ve met so many times now, Cerelia and me. We’ve laughed together, held hands at the pier, and kissed dozens — hundreds? — of times in the restaurant where we had our first date.

I honestly feel like I was losing the hope I need to go on and change how the future unfolds. You, Cerelia, my love, always end up dying in the most sudden of ways. Or falling in love with someone else. Or… A million other things.

Even if I can’t change the future or I can’t prevent you from dying in some tragic way, I’ll still love you. But I can’t stay here repeating our time together over and over. I want to see the sunset with you.

“I’ll give you my answer when I get that pizza you promised.”

“What a way to build suspense! You wanna be a writer?”

“Pfft, no.” I laugh.

“Fine. I can wait.” Cerelia smiles, takes another sip and coyly glances away.

This time, I’m determined to stop all of this — and meet you at the altar.

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