Every Monday, I noticed a distinguished gentleman buying two movie tickets, but he always ended up sitting by himself. Fascinated by this routine, I felt a strong urge to discover the story behind his lonely existence. On a cold Monday, I chose to join him, not realizing that this decision would lead our lives to connect in surprising and meaningful ways.
The Lumière Cinema was not just a job for me; it felt like a refuge where the soft whir of the projector could briefly wash away the worries of the world. The scent of salted popcorn wafted through the air, while the old vintage posters appeared to whisper stories from a past I had only ever imagined living.
Every Monday morning, Henry Grace showed up right on time, his presence as reliable as the sunrise. He stood apart from the typical customers who rushed in, frantically searching for their coins or tickets with quick, anxious gestures.
Henry walked with a calm grace, his tall, slender figure dressed in a neatly buttoned navy coat. His salt-and-pepper hair, carefully styled back, glimmered under the lobby lights as he walked toward the counter. He kept making the same request over and over.
“I’d like to get two tickets for the morning show, please.”
Still, even with the two tickets in hand, he always went by himself.
As I passed him the tickets, our hands briefly touched, his fingers cold from the winter air. I gave a polite smile, even though my mind was racing with questions that had no answers.
What’s the reason for two tickets? Who are they intended for?
“Another two tickets?” Mia playfully teased from behind me, her grin wide as she helped another customer. “Perhaps he’s going out on a double date.” “It’s got that classic vibe, you know?”
“Maybe it’s for his imaginary friend,” Jake laughed, another coworker, shaking his head in amusement. “He could be married to someone.”
I stayed out of their laughter. There was something about Henry that made their jokes seem out of place.
I thought about asking him straight out, even practiced what I might say, but whenever the time came, I just couldn’t bring myself to do it. It felt like an invasion of privacy, and I knew it wasn’t my place to dig deeper.
The following Monday had a different vibe. On my day off, I relaxed in bed, observing the frost slowly making its way across the windowpane, when an idea began to form.
What would happen if I decided to follow him? It wasn’t about spying; it was simply curiosity. With Christmas approaching, the air was thick with a sense of wonder and the thrill of discovery.
The following morning, the air felt fresh and energizing, and the holiday lights lining the street appeared to sparkle with an added glow.
As I walked into the dimly lit theater, I spotted Henry already seated, his silhouette highlighted by the gentle light from the screen. He seemed deep in thought, standing tall and purposeful as always. As our eyes locked, a subtle, understanding smile appeared on his lips.
“You’re not working today,” he said gently.
