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His name slipped from your mouth. Your body pleaded for him to come forward because you were unable to. If he would just approach you, you both could reconcile, pretend like nothing had happened this last week and go back to the way things were. Maybe he would take a seat next to you casually and say, "Fancy seeing you here," and make small talk as if you were both strangers meeting for the first time. You would make a note of his suave style, and he would compliment your observational skills. Things would go on this way, carefree and sweet so that apologies would not even need to be said and the path to a happily ever after would show itself again.
Come forward. Just take a step. Anything.
He parted his lips as if he was going to answer you but immediately looked away with furrowed eyebrows. As soon as his cup of coffee was finished, he took it and left without so much as a glance at you again.
Even as a man of little words, could he not have simply acknowledged you with a nod of his head or a wave of his hand? You needed to speak with him, but the opportunity was gone and the stubbornness and pride continued to keep you from using your phone. If someone was going to break the silence, it wasn't going to be you. No, not again. It was always you.
So you held onto that little device, hoping that any second, you would hear a little chime and see his name make an appearance on the screen. Would he really leave such a situation so awkwardly unexplained? Though you wanted to stay in your place, time was ticking and classes would begin soon, so with one last observational sweep of the shop for any more familiar faces, you took your bag and coffee to go.
The encounter left you with a bitter after-taste throughout the day that even your sweet latte could not mask, though its taste was not as satisfying as it usually was. Perhaps it was because it wasn't your waiter who made it. You opened the lid of the cup to find that the contents were messy; then it was true that all this time, it was your waiter who knew about your love for choco powder and hearts.
How bland, lonely and boring the world seemed to you now. The colour had not come back; everything was still painted black and white. The buildings around campus loomed over you depressingly as they shadowed the sun, and the sounds and sights of couples' laughter as you walked from class to class were difficult to bear. Is it possible to get through a day shielding both your eyes and ears?
7:00 PM, Thursday
After classes finished and the evening had arrived, you found yourself unable to make a decision as to where to go. To go back home where the bed was empty and loneliness lurked in the dark corners of your room? The thought scared you. And staying on campus felt too stifling.
There was only one place you could think of, and that was the coffee shop. Despite the memories it held, you believed it could heal you somehow. To curl up between the cushions on the couch, sip on something warm, and listen to the soft melodies and humming of the acoustic music in the background in the presence of strangers sounded so soothing. It was your escape.
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YH: "Welcome."
It was your waiter from last night greeting you as you walked in. You had never imagined it could feel so calming to see the face of someone you hardly knew.
YH: "You're coming in later than usual."
"Yes, a bit."
You went upstairs and took a seat on your favourite couch and noted that there were hardly any customers in the shop. The clock on the wall claimed that it was 11:45 PM, but it certainly didn't feel like it.
YH: "What can I get for you tonight?"
Mr. Waiter folded his hands in front of him, ready to take your order.
"Anything simple is fine. I just realized what time it was. You'll be closing at 12, right?"
You didn't mean to inconvenience him.
YH: "Don't mind the time. I can still make you anything you'd like," he answered with a reassuring smile. "I think you're the only guest now."
"Oh. Um, what would you recommend?"
YH: "Feeling adventurous today? You usually get the skinny latte."
"I had a cup of it from here this morning, so I figured I should try something different. Nobody makes it as perfectly as you do."
YH: "Haha, is that so?" He blushed. "If I may ask, how are you feeling today?"
"Not that much better from last night to be quite honest."
YH: "I think hot chocolate would be perfect for the occasion, no?"
You chuckled.
"If you say so, coffee expert."
YH: "Yes, indeed-y. I'll be back with your drink in a bit."
You settled on the couch a bit more. But as soon as the waiter left, your phone chimed.
It was a message.
"I'm sorry."
This was it? You waited all day for a response from him and all you got was an apology? An apology for what? Was it an apology for ignoring you today? For the way, things ended the other night? For the relationship? Sorry for being so cold?
You were so sick of the way he turned his back on you all the time. Right at the most crucial times, when you want to say something to him, he walks away. His apology was like lighting fire to a wound. After putting effort every day into hearing his voice and trying to open his gated heart, you were tired. His apology felt like it was directed at your perseverance, that no matter what you did, he was sorry that things would not change.
He was sorry that his heart would never open to you because you just weren't good enough for him. And all of this was evidence that you never would be, no matter how much you wanted things to work.
