Love, Lies & Lattes

It started with a croissant.

Or rather, the absence of one.

Mr. Sood, a sharply dressed man in his late 40s, was a regular—but the kind that carried a stopwatch in his mind and a complaint in his mouth. He liked his coffee exactly 47 degrees warm and his croissant warmed for twelve seconds. Not ten. Not fifteen.

Today, Raj was working the counter.

“Good morning, sir,” Raj said, cheery but nervous. “One almond milk latte and a toasted croissant, right?”

“Correct,” Mr. Sood said, without looking up from his phone. “And not burned this time. Last week, the edges were—”

“Too crisp. Got it,” Raj said, smiling tightly.

The drink was made. The croissant delivered.

Then came The Sip.

Mr. Sood lowered his cup slowly, dramatically, as though he'd tasted betrayal.

“This,” he announced, “is not almond milk.”

Raj blinked. “Sir, I’m sure it is. I poured it myself—”

“No, young man. I’ve been drinking almond milk since before you were born. This is oat. Oat milk has a thicker mouthfeel.”

Raj flushed. “I... I double-checked the label. It was—”

“I’m not arguing with you,” Mr. Sood snapped. “Call your manager. Now.”

From across the café, Kiara looked up. She’d been reviewing supplier invoices but could sense the shift in air pressure when a customer meltdown began.

She stood and walked over with calm, practiced poise.

“Good morning, Mr. Sood. Raj said you had a concern?”

Mr. Sood exhaled sharply. “Yes. Your barista gave me the wrong milk. Again. Oat, not almond.”

Kiara turned to Raj, who was practically vibrating.

“I used almond, I swear—label was blue, not green,” Raj whispered.

Kiara nodded once, then faced Mr. Sood with a polite, open expression.

“I’m really sorry you’re not happy with your drink. We double-checked the milk this morning, but I’ll personally remake your order.”

He nodded, satisfied. “Good. And have someone taste-test it next time.”

She smiled. “Unfortunately, we don’t pre-sample drinks. We like to leave the first sip for the customer. Adds to the magic.”

Mr. Sood grunted. “Just fix it.”

As she turned, she motioned Meera over with a glance.

“Re-make it, please,” she murmured. “Use almond again. Same carton Raj used.”

Meera raised an eyebrow but complied. Two minutes later, Kiara returned with the fresh cup.

She placed it gently in front of Mr. Sood. “Here you go. Almond milk, exactly as before. But if you still feel something's off, I’d love to do a blind test with both milks—on the house. You’ll tell us which is which.”

Mr. Sood froze. “A test?”

Kiara smiled warmly. “You clearly have a refined palate. Help us learn from it.”

The café had quieted slightly, several regulars pretending not to listen.

Mr. Sood hesitated... then shook his head.

“This one’s fine,” he said, taking another sip. “Much better.”

“Glad to hear it,” Kiara said, then leaned in a little, her tone still kind but firmer. “Raj is new. He’s learning. We don’t mind feedback, but let’s keep the tone friendly. This is a café, not a courtroom.”

He looked away, embarrassed but not offended. “Noted.”

She turned to Raj next.

“You were right. You did everything correctly. But next time, stay calm and don’t try to defend—just listen. We don’t win by arguing. We win by staying steady.”

Raj nodded slowly, shoulders relaxing.

Later, as the rush died down, he approached her by the sink, holding two takeaway cups in one hand and the dreaded almond milk carton in the other.

“Still blue label,” he said, smiling weakly.

Kiara chuckled. “You handled it better than you think.”

“Barely,” he muttered.

“You’ll get there,” she replied. “People like Mr. Sood aren’t why we’re here. But they’re why we get better.”

The café returned to its usual rhythm—light music, low laughter, the familiar hiss of steam wands at work.

The almond milk incident was over. No one had stormed out. No one had been fired. The café stayed true to its heart: warm, patient, and deeply human.

And that, Kiara thought as she refilled the biscotti jar, was a win.