Forget-me-not Cafe

"Mind if I sit with you?" She kindly asked the guy who was sitting alone by the window. The cafe was packed with customers and it was a relief for her to find a table that has a vacant seat.

The guy was taken aback by her presence. He was used of being alone. And the table was his usual spot, like as though it was made for him exclusively. He preferred sitting there because his line of vision reaches all of the cafe's corner. It was easier for him to see people and create quick sketches of them. He would sometimes fondly look at some teens and sketch them out. His sketches of them would incorporate the emotions of the youth, their smiles and laughs, and it's like seeing them in real life from the sketch pad.

"Uhm. I don't mind." It took him about half a minute before he could realize that he was staring at her face and studying its features. From her eyebrows to her beautiful pair of deep brown orbs, to her small nose, and to her pink lips.

"Thanks." She said to him. Though she found it awkward because he kinda checked her out. She sat down, and put out her newly-bought novel. There's nothing better sitting in a coffee shop, packed with people, a coffee laid out in front of her, and holding a good book. It was a daily routine for her. She was a fan of coffees just as she was a fan of books.

They didn't talk to each other. They didn't even bother knowing each others' names. They let each other get swallowed up in their own made-up world, not realizing sooner that their world in reality was already in front of each other.

That one incident happened again the next day, and again, and again, and again. And they would just seat across each other and remain silent. The guy's eyes would travel around the cafe, but not reaching hers. He would make himself busy of sketching things and people. She on the other hand would fondly sip from her cup, smiling from time to time because of a scene from the book she was reading, and completely oblivious of her surroundings and of her company--the stranger. It was an empty silence. Somewhere in between of comforting and awkward. But they both don't mind.

One day, when she went to the coffee shop, she was expecting to have the company of the silent artist once again. But she was disappointed. The stranger wasn't there by the window. Instead, a small blue flower laid on a tissue paper and in it was a note.

"To the bookworm stranger I know."
(Kindly open)

She opened the tissue paper and found a messy sketch of her holding a book in her left hand, while a cup of coffe was in her right hand. Her lips curved into a smile.

She then sat down and did her usual routine.

The next day, she found another small blue flower. This time, it was lying on a piece of paper, on it was a scribbled message.

"Not once did you ever ask what I was sketching, nor did I ask what you were reading."

She flipped the paper. The girl in the drawing was leaning across the table trying to look at his sketch, while the guy was reaching for the book in her hand. Her lips then again formed into a smile.

The next day, another blue flower laid on the table with a piece of paper. But she didn't come. And the next day, another blue flower laid, and another piece of paper was there. The paper and flower from yesterday was still there. A week had passed, and the six blue flowers withered, and the other one was yet to wither. While the seven sketches remained untouched.

The cafe staff was hopeless romantic that they declared the table by the window to be off limits to other customers. They would clean the table, but they make sure that the sketches won't be moved. They hoped for a love story to bloom in their cafe.
It was a Saturday morning in mid-November when she walked in the cafe. When she looked at the table, he was there, sadly looking at his sketches, a jar of dried flowers sat beside his cup of coffee.

She approached the table, cleared her throat and asked, "Mind if I sit with you?"

Deja vu. However, this time they were aware of each other's existence. They were strangers, only by name. But their hearts longed for each other's presence.

Silence once again enveloped them. She put out a book, but this time, she didn't open it. Instead, she placed it in front of him.

"Tiara's Wedlock" the title in the cover said.

He looked at the book, confusion evident on his face. But his eyes shifted to her hand, to her fingers, and to the ring that was shining beautifully because of the light.

When he looked at her straight in the eyes, he saw that they were brimmed with tears. Before he could mutter a word and reach for her face to brush the tears away, she stood up and walked out of the cafe.

He spent two straight days reading the book. He discovered that in the story, the woman was forced in an arranged marriage, a marriage for convenience. And that she was actually in love with a stranger that she met only twice, however there was no way out of her marriage.

On the last page of the book, a dried flower was there.

"Forget-me-not,
This was the first ever flower you gave me.
But do you know what was odd?
The flower doesn't mean 'don't forget me" literally.
It means 'true love.'"

Years had passed. White hairs were already invading his hair, his facial features were of an old man, but he sat on the table by the cafe like the young man he was from yesterday.

"Grandpa, they are gonna exhibit my pieces!" An excited young woman came squealing and hugged him tight. Not long, he said goodbye to his granddaughter because he had to be somewhere, and he told her that they were gonna celebrate later in the evening.

She ordered coffee and went back to her seat. She then put out her grandfather's copy of "Tiara's Wedding".

"Mind if I sit with you?"

She tore her gaze away from the book and looked at the guy who spoke, a camera hung by his neck.

"You're reading 'Tiara's Wedding'! That's my grandma's favorite. Back when I was child, I would see her reading that and she would sometimes cry."

~fin

Artwork(avaible in the media) by: Pascal Campion