The Rejection Café

She pushed open the door to the coffee shop that was tucked away in a secluded corner of the neighbourhood—a blast of frigid autumn air following in her footsteps. Stopping in front of the counter, she scanned the menu. After a moment of hesitation, she ordered a cold brew. She preferred the sweet aftertaste; black coffee was too bitter for her liking.

Leaning against the counter, she could almost taste the rich scent of freshly made beverages. It reminded her of the cocoa beans he gave her, sitting in the back of her pantry.

"Your cold brew is ready. Thank you for coming to Tim Hortons."

"Thank you," she said, smiling politely at the cashier.

The drink was filled to the brim. She cradled it and inched across the room, careful to not spill its contents. The girl drank it all, taking in the chilliness and bittersweet aftertaste that left her wanting more. Some of the nervousness and fatigue dissolved as she plopped onto the sofa, soft and worn down with age.

She tapped her fingers fervently against the table, and pulled out a notebook from her bag, desperately trying to distract herself from the clock hands, spinning closer and closer to noon.

She was supposed to meet him. A friend from years back, who had disappeared without a trace; without a word of goodbye. Yesterday, she received a call from him, telling her to meet him at the coffee shop one last time.

At first, she was ecstatic. But as she sat at the table, a twinge travelled down her spine. She didn't know why she was so suddenly afraid. Wiping her hands on her jeans, she heaved a trembling sigh and clasped her hands together in order to stop the shaking.

The hands on the clock aligned and she held her breath, waiting. Waiting for him to waltz in, a wide smile etched across his face. But another minute passed. Then an hour. And before she knew it, it was already late in the afternoon. She sat at the edge of the love seat and stared blankly at the wall in front of her, her notebook lying wide open to an untouched page.

He was really gone this time. She sighed and slung her bag over her back. Walking out the door, her legs felt as though they were made of cement, each step dragging her down, until her knees collapsed underneath her. She tasted salt on her lips, only to realize she'd been crying. 

Her breaths came faster and faster, until she felt lightheaded and her lungs screamed for air. She felt like fainting. Grabbing onto the corner of a building, she clutched her notebook tightly to her chest. Tears dripped down her face like a broken faucet, and she desperately tried to wipe them away. She opened her mouth to cry out, but only a hoarse whisper escaped.

It was too late. She was always too late.