I treated myself to a solo café outing—just me, a cozy table by the window, and a good cup of coffee. I found the perfect spot: peaceful, private, with a great view. After placing my order, a couple walked in, stared for a moment, then asked me to give up my seat so they could have the view.
I politely declined. I’d already settled in. I didn’t want to move to a cramped table near the kitchen.
Minutes later, they seated themselves directly beside me but didn’t open their menus right away. Instead, the woman stared at me. I tried to ignore it, thinking I was overreacting. But the stares continued. It became clear: they were trying to guilt me out of my seat.
So I leaned in—literally and figuratively. I ordered an extra drink, a dessert, and scrolled on my phone, taking my time. Every bite felt like a quiet victory. If they wanted that window seat so badly, they’d have to wait… forever.
I paid my bill, packed up, and left—smiling, satisfied. Later, I realized how powerful it felt to stand my ground. The moment wasn’t just about the seat—it was about respecting boundaries.
