Dear Nostalgic Future Me

September 3, 2025

Dear Nostalgic Future Me,

You’ll probably never read this, what with having been through it yourself, but if I don’t write it down now.. Well, you know what happens then.

Now, I know what you’re thinking, “it started out like every other typical day” but you’d be wrong. You’ll remember what day I’m writing about, but let’s begin. First, I actually woke up to my alarm clock ON THE FIRST QUACK and ON THE FIRST ALARM! That alone should’ve been a warning, but unfortunately, I don’t have the foresight that you do. Now, quit distracting me. Second, I stood straight up out of bed, no lollygagging, no doom scrolling, no social media updates. Zero hesitation. Zero sleepiness. I didn’t even have to rub my eyes with the ferocity of a child picking their nose aka picking my immeasurable sleepy eye boogers. Do we still have so many?

Anyway, even with the smoothest awakening I’ve ever experienced, I forgot the most important ritual of the morning. The caffeine. The coffee. The delectable nectar that feeds our soul. That should’ve been warning #2. Like I said, nothing about this morning was normal. But just as my dreary heart started to lament about my missed cup of joe, I walked past a little cafe. It had the checked curtains and the red leather booths and the mismatched chairs. It was screaming “small town boy with a backwards baseball cap and the secret love of his life shouting “COFFEE COFFEE COFFEE” every morning.” IYKYK.. And I know that you know! So, obviously, I had to go inside.

The door was propped open, but once I got inside, it was empty. There were no other customers, only some guy sans freaking baseball hat in the corner staring at what looked to be hundreds of paper receipts. He was so focused that I was convinced he was waiting for the receipts to talk or organize themselves. Either way, he obviously didn’t care that he had a customer, but unfortunately for Mr. Stares-at-Paper, I was in dire need and nothing was going to stop me from at least attempting to get a latte.

As it was, Mr. Stares-at-Paper still hadn’t looked my way. Did he have the door propped open so he didn’t have to hear the incessant bell above the door that I could clearly see was intact? I tried walking up to the register, and maybe my steps were slightly louder than usual, but still: NOTHING! No response. I was tempted to believe he was a statue until he ran his long fingers through his shaggy “bad boy” haircut, pulled his lips in, and scrunched his brows. The second his dimple appeared, I should’ve known I was done for. I should’ve walked away and never looked back. I wish I had, for you, for us..

That’s where it all changed. It’s where I changed. It’s what shaped you.

I stared at that dimple, then my eyes travelled down to his lips, full and surrounded by a barely there shadow. They continued down to his muscled arms, thick and corded. He was wearing a black t-shirt, simple yet perfect. His hands were just.. Well, you know how we feel about those. I refused to let my eyes continue their journey and instead, cleared my throat. Loudly.

He looked up. Finally. Piercing me with his turquoise gaze peeking through light brown lashes that matched the color of his disheveled hair. My breath hitched. I couldn’t speak. At least I couldn’t until he smirked and said, “Cat got your tongue?”

That woke me up from my stricken state. You know how we are when someone acts like a dick. I couldn’t help myself. I crossed my arms and spit out, “Asshole” before I remembered that he was the coffee bearer and I needed my fix.

But he laughed, a rough sound that came from deep in his chest. “Yes, I am. What do you need, sweetheart?”

“Not your sweetheart, but a hazelnut latte should suffice. Medium. Hot. An extra shot of espresso.” Do we still drink our coffee the same way? Or has that changed too? I hope it hasn’t changed. I really do love a hazelnut latte.

He lifted an eyebrow and shook his head with more of that life changing laughter. Do we still remember the sounds from this day? He turned away to presumably get started on my latte and I sat down at the counter, right next to his pile of “magical” receipts. I don’t know what came over me, but I started rifling through them. I’m not an accountant. I can’t even do my own taxes on my own and have to rely on a scam of a website to get it done. But I had to know what had stolen his focus so unflinchingly. You understand, don’t you?

They made zero sense, honestly. After a minute, I was now the one staring at the pile, hoping it would magically sort itself into some recognizable pattern. At that point, my internal monologue decided to betray me because my mouth absolutely exhaled “What the fuck is this shit” before I could stop it.

The machine currently steaming the milk for my latte was now the loudest sound in the entire universe. Mr. Stares-at-Paper turned around to face me, clearly amused with my turn of phrase. Meanwhile, my cheeks were hot and flames licked along the surface of my skin. I didn’t think I could get any redder.. Until he said “Red suits you.” The amusement was replaced with something darker when he uttered those words and my body was attuned to the change.

Needing to change the subject, because obviously this man was teasing me in the worst way possible, I retorted, “Actually, my name is Rachel. I can see how you’d be confused.”

Truthfully, I would’ve let him call me Red in every language at that moment.

He gave me a knowing smile and turned back around to finish my latte. I refused to acknowledge the invisible stack of haunting papers in front of me and watched his back instead. I watched him pick up a marker to write something on my latte and I just knew what he wrote. I knew it. Still, he looked me in the eyes and said, “Order for Red.”

I refused to look away and I refused to react. But I had chills racing up my spine from the prolonged eye contact and the dare in his voice.

He didn’t back down either. “Are you Red?” I swear his voice dropped an additional octave with each word and I couldn’t hide my shiver then.

He saw it. I know he saw it. He knows I know he saw it.

I was suddenly parched and barely heard myself say “I’m Red.” I still can’t believe I folded so easily. You were there, you know how my knees felt weak and my stomach fluttered the entire time.

I should’ve left for work then, but being there felt more important, permanent and timeless. I drank my latte and asked him his name. Bryan. He felt like a Bryan. Safe, yet muddled. I asked him about the cafe and the pile of things that shall not be named. We talked about the little things. And the big things. Our fears and future dreams.

After an hour, he asked if I wanted something to eat and I responded, “Always.”

We ate in a comfortable silence, a silence most people have to earn with years of experience in each other’s company. We had it right away. The moment I became Red.

Eventually, new customers came in and I was no longer the sole purpose in his day. He looked at me with that turquoise gaze and asked me to come back tomorrow. I promised I would.

I wanted to.

You know I did.

But things don’t always go the way we want them.

For instance, I didn’t want to see red and blue lights painting the side of my apartment building in their harsh shades of reality. I didn’t want to walk past all of the strangers standing outside and cross the yellow tape to go inside. I didn’t want to find the paramedics hauling a dead body down the stairs. Most importantly, I didn’t want that body to be me.

But things don’t always go the way we want them.

At least the Universe let me feel something. Just one more time.

Signed,

Your Heartbroken Self