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I remember the first time I saw you walk through the doors of the coffee shop. You seemed unreal. Too beautiful to be true. Too mesmerizing, too enchanting.
You wore a pale blue dress adorned with small, white daisies. Your brown hair was put up into a short ponytail with a ribbon, the same shade of blue as your dress. Your hazel eyes shone whenever the sunlight hit them.
You made your way to an empty table and took a seat. I came over to take your order, and you, with the most charming beam, asked for "chocolat chaud."
We were understaffed that day, so I had to make the warm cocoa drink for you by myself. When it was ready, I brought it over to your table, and inside a notebook, you were writing something with black ink. The letters on the page were small and written ever so delicately.
I put the mug down beside your notebook, and you dropped the pen from your grip. You then closed the notebook and moved it to the side. 'Rêve un petit rêve de moi' was written on its cover.
You took the mug between your hands and flashed me that charming smile again before you said, "Merci, monsieur."
I probably shouldn't have, but I continued to study the words on the cover of the notebook. You noticed, so you asked, "what are you looking at?"
I recall wanting to know more, so I asked you what the words meant.
"The song? Dream a little dream of me? Ella Fitzgerald?" You suddenly spoke in perfect English, confusing me.
You laughed. "Do you not know the song, or do you just not speak English?" I remember hearing your soothing voice ask me. I told you that I knew the song, but I was just surprised by your English. You smiled at me.
I love the way you smile. I absolutely adore it.
You thanked me once more for the hot chocolate before I left your table and got back to my work.
I continued watching you begin to write again as I took and prepared orders. You stayed at the shop for a while that day, writing endlessly. I was growing curious as to what you were inking down onto that paper, but I never asked.
That was the day we met, a day I will never forget. I've only seen you three times, but it is you who has been occupying my mind.
As I'm writing this down, I wonder about what you might be doing. Are you writing in that notebook? I wonder what you write in there. Or maybe you are at home, reading a book beside a cosy fire. I want to know what you like to read. I wonder what your interests are. What do you like to do?
There are too many things I want to know about you. I should ask you about them. I'll do it tomorrow.
For now, however, I just want to thank you for entering my life. So, thank you, my dear, beloved Serene.
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