THAT AROMA OF HIS LOVE....

It’s a Monday afternoon. She is sitting in a lone coffee shop. It’s her down time in between classes, and she chose to subway downtown and focus on the paper that could make or break her college degree.

She hears him before she sees him. The door opens. The tiny bell hung above it rings, signaling his presence. She looks up from her cappuccino and laptop at the noise and the burst of cold air coming through. She freezes and stops her work, almost spilling her drink all over her in the process.

He hasn’t changed a bit. He takes off his black beanie, and his dark brown hair is styled just the way she remembers. His hands, covered by chic, black leather gloves, rub against each other for warmth before being placed in his equally fashionable gray pea coat. His dark-rimmed glasses make him seem just a bit more sophisticated than he really is. He has taken on the style of New York fashion and looks just as she’s seen him in her dreams.

He walks up to the barista and orders his coffee of choice. Or maybe it’s tea. She can’t hear him well enough to really decipher what he likes to drink. His eyes scan around the seemingly empty coffee shop, feeling as if someone is watching him. His gaze falls upon her, observing him from across the room. He stares at her for a second and then begins to smile. She returns the sentiment. He remembers her.

His name is suddenly called and their staring contest breaks. He walks around and picks up his order from the other side of the counter. He comes to her table, again with a warm smile and a friendly hug. It’s all pleasantries — how are you doing? How has life treated you? What are you doing here?

She didn’t realize until that moment that she missed the sound of his voice. She didn’t realize that all the butterflies she spent years pushing down deep in her stomach have suddenly shown up again. She didn’t realize how nice it was to have him look at her. It seemed for a tiny moment that he possibly cared about her.

They start to discuss the deeper manners of life. He asks her what her plans are for after she graduates college. She, in turn, asks him how he ended up working at the job he has now. He starts to talk about his life and how happy he is to be in the place he is now. He seems enchanting to her for a split second… but then she notices something different about him.

To the person who just met him, he or she might not notice the subtle changes within him. His walk doesn’t hold the same swagger as it used to have. His gaze, although friendly, seems to be in the clouds — as if he knows he is in this beautiful New York City coffee shop but somehow can’t seem to find his place within it. His words aren’t as grandiose as she remembered them to be — they speak the same language now. Then it hits her — he’s started to become her equal, rather than the older boy she fell in love with all those years ago.

All the while, he sees something different in her too. She’s lost her sense of nervousness and awkwardness around him. The assertiveness about her that once seemed annoying to him has now become attractive. The curly brown hair he once recalled as being long is now styled into a short, blown-out look, somehow making her prettier than he remembered from their teenage years. The scarf and beanie that look like they were casually thrown on but meticulously put there gives her the air of an artist — one that he’s never seen from her. Her state of being intrigues him. The young girl he once knew has now become a woman with more drive and ambition than he can ever remember. She has come into her own being and maybe, just maybe, he’s starting to fall in love with her.

He looks at all the magazines spread across the table and he wonders aloud what she is working on. Taking a sip of her coffee (what kind did she get — he so desperately wants to know the vanilla smell coming from the mug), she describes how she is writing a response paper on what types of articles each magazine features. She breaks down the intricacies of what each magazine does, how much each ad costs per issue, etc… and all he can do is sit there, fascinated by her enthusiasm on this seemingly foreign subject.

He takes in her hand gestures, her body language — they’re open and inviting. He notices her dark brown eyes light up as she talks about how passionate she is for her craft. Her smile gives him a tingle of warmth through his bones — one that until that moment, he had never felt before with her. All the while, she notices his body language too. He’s subtly leaning in to hear every word quietly uttered from her mouth. He looks her in the eye, trying to figure out her next move before she throws him for a loop and does the opposite. The hand that used to be in his pocket is now right next to hers, almost touching, fingers begging to be linked together. They both feel the warmth radiating from the other person. Or maybe it’s the heat in the shop. They don’t care enough to pay attention to what’s happening around them. They only care about each other in the heat of the moment.

Yet they’re both are afraid to make a move. Him, afraid that there are more feelings here than he is prepared to handle — from both sides. Her, afraid that he’s going to break her heart and leave her with all the shattered pieces — just like he did in high school. All these feelings of wanting, and yet no actions made. So they just sit there chatting, desperately hoping that the other is going to reach out and throw a rope to hold onto. A hope that there is a small chance for a romance to begin.

Alas. She looks at her phone and sighs. She lets him know that she has to leave in order to make her next class. She asks if she could see him again. He agrees vehemently, giving her his cell number. The same number from high school. The same number that at one point she knew like the back of her hand. It’s good to know the little things haven’t changed. She gives him one last hug, saying it was nice to see him. She packs up and walks out into the cold, ready to face the rest of the day and sadly knowing that he’s never going to make a move and that it’s going to be awhile before she sees him again — if ever.

He continues to sit there, stunned by what just happened. He realizes that half of his heart has just walked away with her and there is nothing he can do to stop it. She’s given him no number to reach her, no address to find her. Their love only lasted as long as a chat in a lone coffee shop. All he has from their interaction is a receipt for a cup of coffee and regret that he didn’t run after her.

……………

He comes back to the same coffee shop the next day. He orders his usual (a Caffe Americano and a shot of espresso on the side) and sits down at the exact same place she sat yesterday, hoping that she will turn up once more. He starts to wonder what she has done in the past few years. He boots up his laptop and goes to her Facebook page. He glances at the profile picture and… she’s happy. Or at least it seems to be that way. Her smile touches her eyes. He scans her profile and watches her life play out before him.

She’s had her heart broken — that much is obvious from the various quotes splattered across her Facebook timeline. She’s had moments of pain — her statuses about her dad being struck with cancer leave his heart heavy. But above all, he comes to the realization that despite knowing her… he really doesn’t. And he really wants to know her.

He gathers his courage — along with a shot of espresso — and opens the Facebook messenger app on his phone. He types out the one phrase that she always used when he ghosted her: “Hi. How are you doing?” He takes a breath, counts to three and presses send.

One minute goes by. Two minutes. Three minutes. He’s scared to see what the answer is going to be. He’s scared to see if there is going to be an answer. Eventually a half hour passes and it takes all of him to not take his phone and smash it against the wall. His nerves are shot — but maybe that’s due to the insane amount of caffeine he has consumed in the past thirty minutes.

He opens the app once again. He clicks on her name. He sees the dreaded words at the bottom of his phone screen: seen at 1:42PM. She read it. In fact, she opened the message two minutes after he sent it. And there’s no answer. He’s heartbroken. He put himself out on a limb and received no response.

Maybe this is what she felt each time she tried to reach out to him. Maybe she had to take all the courage she had within her to send that small “Hi.” Maybe she sat there for an unknown amount of time, trying to figure out what she did wrong for her to receive no response from him. He finally understands her after all these years.

He gets up, pays for his drink and starts walking towards the subway. A ding sounds on his phone. He glances at the message. “Hey yourself.” It’s her. She answered.

Maybe their love story could begin…