It's a promise

I pushed the door with a sign 'open', and an intense yet sweet fragrance of pure coffee slammed against my tired face. Silver's had always been one of my favorite coffee shops since the day I met my first love here. They said the first love never dies, but they do literally.

I met Darren when I was a seventh-grader and he was a freshman. I decided to taste coffee, sixty four minutes after mom told me I shouldn't. Darren was sitting near the window, waiting for someone. I sat few tables behind him. Sipping my coffee slowly, two hours had passed and I was halfway my glass. The warmth was gone, and noone had come for Darren. I decided to give up but he turned his head and said these exact words, "How long do you plan on stalking me?".

My heart pounded so fast for the first time; I mumbled my words which made him laugh. He got out from his seat, walked to my table and sat in front of me. I could notice the way his hair fell perfectly in random direction. He asked me why I was drinking coffee. He must've thought I was stalking him but I was not. Stalking was very different from disobeying. I answered him by saying to waste my free time. It must be the stupidest answer I could give. Ever.

Darren laughed over that; he told me that too much coffee could harm my health. I was way too happy at that moment; too happy I got to waste my time with a kind and funny guy. Days had passed and we continued seeing each other. We went out to dates, ate dinner at my house before being spanked by mom, and he stole my first first kiss. I was so happy he was the thief. I confessed my love for him and he gladly confessed his, too. It was the most gorgeous feeling I had then.

But one day, everything became blurry to me. The seventeenth of September. The exact date I lost him. We agreed to meet at this coffee shop at exactly one o'clock in the afternoon. He was hours late but I still continued on patiently waiting. I glanced at the window and my eyes met his. Quickly, I dashed out of the shop. He was running towards me with a big grin on his face, and a bouquet of flowers on his hands. It was our first anniversary. Scenes flashed simultaneously. A reckless driver drove non-stop as different beeps of cars can be heard. The reckless driver soon stopped in front of my cold body. A river of tears came flowing rapidly through my cheeks as my eyes stared down to the blood-bathed body of Darren. Flower petals were scattered everywhere. I was speechless; I felt like I was dead.

People crowded and some called sn ambulance. But no. No signs of life. I kneeled on the ground and crawled beside him. I embraced his body with all my might as people were untangling me from him. I did not want to lose him. I loved him.

Months passed and I was still dreading for his death. Mom told me I was too young for love, and I will soon find the right one for me, when i'm older. But the scene kept replaying over and over again. I became different since then. I had tons of playful relationships and my grades were sliding down.

Mom became extremely worried to what I was thinking. Few days after, Darren's mom visited our house. She told me that Darren talks highly about me. There was a feeling of emptiness, and a little happiness for the love we once had. She handed me an album which contains all our memories and a diary which contains all his feelings.

I read every page of the torned book and came to realize I should start becoming serious. Darren wrote, 'I wanted her to be happy, even if the happiness was given not by me.' It kicked me really hard. I was thinking stupidly. I cried for two whole nights until my eyes was out of tears. All those memories came back as I sat near the window, the exact seat we met.

The table was still the same. The gum I placed beneath was still there, old and dusty. I sniffed the aroma as everything special about this place drifted through my depressed mind. "Sweetheart, is that you?" I turned my head and my lips smiled to the old man. He runs this shop for more than two decades. I never thought his hair would fall easily after five years. He had always treated me like his daughter.

"Hello, Mr. Silver," I said as I walked towards the counter.

"Oh stop being formal. Just call me the way you did."

"Ofcourse, Quartis." He let out a laugh; he must've thought I'd already forgotten his name. But gosh, who would ever forget such a unique name. "Can I have an espresso, please?" I said.

"Going for the favorite, eh? I'd get it in a sec." In less than ten seconds, he came back with the espresso and a piece of bread. "Here you go, sweetheart. You can have all of it for free!" He said.