Total pages in book: 21
Estimated words: 18893 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 94(@200wpm)___ 76(@250wpm)___ 63(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 18893 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 94(@200wpm)___ 76(@250wpm)___ 63(@300wpm)
In my imagination, the barista would actually be fond of our meetings and might even sit down for tea or coffee with us, and we’d find out we had things in common and they would become part of our group.
I had so many fantasies of what these three months would become and not a damn one has come true.
The rain gets heavier as I reach the door of the café. The glass is clouded with the heat from the inside, and a quiet bell tinkles as I enter. Rain splashes as I take off my jacket and try to shake it over the threshold without letting any more rain in, but a spray of droplets falls to the floor.
I shoot an apologetic look at the barista, but she’s looking down at something behind the counter and doesn’t notice. It’s a slight reprieve. Although the pit in my stomach has settled in with what feels like cement.
I take another peek over my shoulder as the warmth wraps around me and I realize she’s new. I had at least learned the name of the young woman who’s been here the majority of the time I’ve come: Tammy.
This woman though? I have no idea.
She’s still looking down as I approach to order. For a few seconds, as I wait for my mug of hot water, I think about introducing myself to her.
That’s probably asking too much of a barista. I come here because it’s the place that’s most familiar to me in Edinburgh, close to the lease I’m staying in, and maybe because I’m still holding out hope that I’ll get a group of friends and I’ll be able to say, there’s a place I always visit—it’s small and cozy and I think you’d like it too.
Maybe that would be a good time to introduce myself. I’m cold and my hair is damp, so I can’t exactly put my best foot forward.
The steeps slowly rise in the mug, and I stand on the other side of the counter trying my best to warm up, but a chill runs over me.
The hairs on the back of my neck stand.
I close my eyes and breathe in the scent of coffee grounds and cinnamon. I can even smell the aroma of my tea starting to rise.
When I open my eyes, the barista is sliding the teacup across the counter to me on a coaster.
“Sugar is over on that table.” The barista tilts her head to the side with a tight smile. “Enjoy.”
I smile back at her although it wavers. She tells me the same phrase I hear every time I’m here.
With my hands mostly warmed, I doctor my tea with sugar and a little milk and take it to a table on the center wall.
I used to sit by the window, but a shiver deep in my spine warns me away.
It’s him. The crazy thought seeps into my mind. My breath catches and I hope the barista doesn’t see. It’s all consuming.
The chill haunts me wherever I go. Even on the rare sunny days, I feel it. I feel him. There have been days of this. Sleepless nights and long days of pretending I’m not crazy.
I wrap my hands around the cup of tea and try to convince myself I’m just overreacting.
My tote hangs heavier on my shoulder. The notebooks are there. Two of them. One for what I came for and the other for him. The sketches. The feelings. The nightmare that I’m terrified will return.
A shadow passes in front of the café window.
I can’t help following it as it moves along. The shadow has a tall, wide shape of a person, but I can’t see any features. The window is too fogged. The difference between the heat of the café and the cold of the rainy air outside is too great.
My heart pounds as the shadow slows down and pauses, like he can feel my eyes on him. Thump. Thump. My heart seems to slow, as does time.
I steal another glance at the barista. As quickly as I can, praying she sees it too. With one more thump of my heart I turn back, and he’s gone, but the chill remains.
Another moment passes and it’s then I realize my hands are shaking, my knuckles are white from gripping the mug so tightly. With effort, I relax my stance and tell myself it’s nothing.
It’s nothing but a nightmare.
These thoughts are only make-believe.
I sip my tea. It’s still a bit too hot, burning my tongue mildly as it goes down, but the heat makes the chill a little less harsh. I focus on it. Focus on breathing deeply and grounding myself. Keep my feet here, in the present, in this moment.
A hot cup of tea, a quaint café, and a beautiful city filled with so much history.