Chapter 1
Coffee Beans
The door opened with a ringing chime and let in a swarm of cold air. The cafe that she worked at wasn’t too small, but it wasn’t too grand either. Wind rustled the thousands of notes hanging off of the walls. Papers scribbled with utmost emotions of lovers, of the troubled, of those whose souls did not have a home. Wandering thoughts and emotions conveyed on pulp hanging by a nail. Wishes; futures and pasts clung to the very pillars that held the building up. She wiped her hands on her worn out apron and blew the lonely wisp of hair that constantly pestered her line of sight.
“Here is your Americano sir; two sugar and one cream. Enjoy,” she placed the coffee cup on the counter and slid it forward along with the ‘money bowl'. She immediately guided her hands behind her back and dug under her nails and stared at the customer, hoping that he’d catch on and place the money in the bowl. Dressed in a suit, the man carried a half open umbrella dripping with water and a brown leather brief case. He wasn’t a regular and wasn’t used to the dim lights of the cafe, neither was he used to awkwardly putting bills and coins into a bowl to pay for a coffee. He adjusted his glasses and gave her an odd look. Raising one eyebrow he grabbed his drink and slightly leaned in while glancing at her chest. Her eyes widened as her hands shot in front of her and clung to her apron.
“Areum,” he smiled. ‘Beauty,’ he thought. “Have a good night Miss Areum.” With a small smile he nodded his head and made his way out of the cafe. Areum; her breath was still caught in her throat. She had yet to learn that she was not in constant danger. That random strangers were not going to hurt her the way her own did. She shuddered and came to her senses as the delayed wind came from the door that was opened and whooshed past her, sending shivers down her spine. He was merely reading her name tag— and there she was, a few more seconds away from passing out. She unconsciously reached for her name tag and unpinned it. She placed it beside the stack of paper cups on her right and gathered spit in her mouth to swallow and calm her parched throat. Pulling her glass money bowl towards herself, she took a quick glance at the few customers that she recognized and a few strangers that she hadn’t seen before sitting idly and writing, or enjoying the calm music that echoed throughout the small shop. She envied them, how calm they looked. She envied the small contact shared between lovers; she also feared them. She preferred to be alone— like the boy in the corner; head down and concentrating on his writing.
Areum, like her name she was beautiful; she wasn’t aware of her beauty, however. Her ivory skin was inherited from her mother, thin lips that had a slight heart shape gave life to a blank and rosy face. Her nose was straight, minutely turned up at the point. That kind of a nose was a favourite amongst artists. Her hair was always tied up when she was at any of her jobs; other than that she owned a cascading wave of naturally dark brown tresses that shimmered. An oval shaped face, chisled collar bones. Her small frame made her look frail, but contrary to her appearance she took physical labour fairly well. Her hands were rank, slender, with long fingers. The ideal hands of a surgeon. Sensitive to touch and ticklishness, her left hand was more dominant; Areum was a lefty. Both hands had broken bones which had healed over time. They weren’t soft like most girls’ hands. Blistered from the times she burnt herself when she was lost in her thoughts, her hands carried the weight of her life. The hard part about brewing pour over coffee was the concentration it required. Add the proper amount of boiling water at certain times to have the right taste; to have a good taste. Oh, and to make sure you don’t burn yourself. Long lashes decorated her childlike, almond shaped eyes. Big round pained orbs inconvenienced by troubles accumulated over time. Her eyes depicted the weather outside— a storm.
Areum emptied out the kettle that had water from the brew before and replaced it with fresh water. She needed about two cups, twelve ounces, three-hundred-forty grams of water is what was needed, if you want to make enough coffee for one mug, although it's always nice to have a little extra. Room for error even though there shouldn’t be any when making the coffee. She placed the kettle on the stove, yes the old fashioned way, and stepped to the cash register's shelf where she kept her other work. She was editing another issue of the local magazine. She did it because it was one of the things she enjoyed doing, leisure. She also did it because she needed some extra cash to help pay for her family’s rent and other expenses. She pulled out a red pen and corrected a few sentences, "Wrong grammar. Wrong sentence structure. Spelling error,” she mumbled to herself while getting lost in her work. Once the water was boiled, the kettle let out a whistle that snapped her out of her trance. She jumped off the tanned wooden stool that she sat on and removed it off the heat. Settling the kettle on a heat-proof rubber placemat and abandoning it to cool briefly, as water used for coffee should be just off the boil, she turned to the little dessert display and noticed that she should order a few more cakes for delivery. Jotting a note to call the pastry chef for the girl who worked the morning shift, she stuck the post it on the glass slider of the display and turned back to the water. Usually when there was a customer waiting for their drink, she’d alternatively remove the kettle just before it reached boiling point so they wouldn’t have to wait; there wasnt a person waiting for her at that moment. Areum reached for the thermometer beside the kettle and dipped it in, 195°F was a good measure. The type of water used mattered, always. It should be fresh and cold and never distilled or chemically softened.
