The Essence of Noah (Muslim story)

Coffee

I bite down on the insides of my cheeks to stop my teeth from chattering uncontrollably as a heavy gust of wind penetrates through the woven wool of my coat and seeps through to my goose bump covered body. It's freezing out on the balcony this evening, but as much as I want to go inside and wrap myself with my covers and a hot water bottle, I've been too eager for this little chat with Noah all day, to let unforgiving Melbourne weather get in the way. So, I sit cross legged on the concrete floor, tucking my sock covered feet beneath my thighs and braving the cold as I wait.

He was out here a few minutes ago, in joggers and a jumper, and despite the freezing concrete floor, barefoot. When I asked him about it he waved it off saying "Nah, I'm good. I've got thick skin." He then lingered for a moment, leaning his weight on the railing ad watching me as I shifted on my feet. "Be back in a tick." He said and straightened up and walked back into his apartment.

I think it's fair to say now, that it's been more than a tick, maybe a tock or a few of them together. With the cold and the hardness of the concrete, I'm growing slightly impatient and hoping that this isn't some joke on Noah's side to see how long I can sit stupidly in the cold. I sigh, my chaffed lips scrapping against each other as I lean forward to peek inside his living area. I can't see much, but through the golden lighting of his interior, I can see books and papers on the coffee table and floor, the Project on channel ten muted on his TV screen, and a few pot plants against the wall beneath the mounted shelves. As I stare, I can't help but compare how homely his place seems to mine. His looks and feels like it's livable, like someone has lived in it and loved it. Mine on the other hand seems almost clinic, with no warm colours or loving atmosphere; it looks cold. As I stare between the two apartment doors; where Noah's looks almost chaotic but settled, mine looks lifeless and still. It's the lighting, I convince myself, it has to be.

"Hana?!" I perk up, straightening my curled posture as I hear Noah call to me. Involuntarily, I feel a thud against my chest and a tug at the corners of my lips.

"Ye-" My voice croaks and cracks, "Yeah?!" I try again, my cheeks reddening.

"Just making sure you still here." Noah's head pops out behind the glass door. "Bit of technical difficulties." He smiles genuinely and ruffles the back of his hair.

"Technical difficulties?" My cheeks burn more at being caught blushing and I pray it looks more like wind burn than embarrassment.

"I'll be back." He chuckles and winks. I turn away almost instantly as the beats of my heart quicken and the sudden rush of blood through my veins warms me momentarily. Then, I hear the whirling machine sound that I've become well acquainted with in the mornings. The blender sound that does my head in. If I knew he was experiencing technical difficulties with that, I would have been less embarrassed and more elated.

A few moments more pass, before Noah finally walks out, holding two mugs and the packet of YoYo's between his teeth. Slowly he lowers himself down and places a mug on the ground before taking the packet out of his mouth.

"Your coffee." Passing me the mug through the banisters, he smiles keenly and I can't help but laugh. I look down at the mug between my hands and my smile grows wider. "Don't laugh."

"It's nice." I look up at Noah pulling open the packet.

"You're a God awful lair." He holds out the packet and I take a crumbly biscuit.

"I'm not lying." I'm not. It does look drinkable, but it's a shot away from café style.

"Latte art isn't the easiest thing to master."

"You're into latte art?" I dip the biscuit into the foam and swirl it around.

"I'm not into it, I just appreciate the technique." I raise my eyebrows as he takes a sip. "It's harder than it looks."