Coffee shop
It happened at the coffee shop before work. Not abnormal, nothing out of the ordinary. Just me, my usual iced vanilla latte, and the familiar shuffle of late evening grogginess. I noticed the barista’s pins right away. Bright enamel, queer-coded, loud in the quiet way we learn to be.
I told him I liked his pins. He grinned, asked, “Which one’s your favorite?”
I panicked. Fumbled. Then just blurted out, “The trans ones.”
He froze. Eyes wide. “Why?” not rude, just confused.
I swallowed the usual fear that chokes me in moments like this. Then answered simply, “Because I’m trans. FTM.”
And that’s when he freaked out. In the best way. He was trans too. Just as surprised. Just as seen. We both lit up like kids finding someone who speaks the same secret language.
I haven’t seen him again since, but if I did… I’d give him my number. Not for romance. Just to say same again. To hold space. To swap stories. To remind each other we’re not alone in the everyday. To have another friendly face in this still new city.
Little moments & missed connections
That small moment cracked something open in me. Trans pride isn’t always about flags or parades. Sometimes it’s a shared glance over a coffee counter. A pin. A name. A startled smile.
