snippets of VCY

espresso tastes like hope

It's another day, another day without him.

With every step heavy she's finally made it to the coffee shop.

Today marks two weeks after his departure and she'd find the courage to walk alone to their go-to coffee shop and get coffee for herself.

What she didn't knew was that his presence would loom with her as she walked down the path to the store clouding her senses.

She's quite famous now, as everyone gazes at her, smiling mostly, the successful attorney, the news claimed.

The barista looks at her beaming, her gaze going behind her back for a split second before returning to her.

The slip of her gaze just added another stone to her wrists.

"Iced Americano?"

"Double shot espresso, please."

She sits down alone on a table of two.

Sometimes, she wonders why there isn't a table for one.

It would have made her feel better.

But there she is again, staring blankly at the seat ahead.

She placed her bag there.

An attempt to place an obstacle between her imagination.

To disrupt it from visioning him on this fairly empty seat.

She holds the tiny cup in her hands and takes a sip of the coffee.

And she thinks she's made yet another bad decision when she doesn't feel the bitterness.

Only saudade.

Cha Young tries once more, but again, there's no bitterness, only a lump forming in her throat.

She gazes outside, the plants and the sky but her thoughts start to linger on him.

He'd held the cup so easily, the tiny handle of it with precise movement, just as his hands used to hold the gun firmly.

And the same hands had held her too, quite firmly–she'd felt his hold then.

But like other things, the cup, the gun, the pen she gave him in his hand, she'd also been held for a precise time.

Another sip.

The same hands had also cupped her jaw once, and had stroked her hair.

She blinks and then places the cup back on the saucer.

They say don't linger long on memories, one may get lost in them.

That's when her mind reprimands her and her gaze falls on the cheesecake.

She ordered that too.

Vincenzo Cassano is not a memory.

And so, she gets up, leaves the cheesecake because it's meant to be shared , grabs her bag and pays the same barista with a smile.

With the cheesecake left behind and hope carried in her heart, she pulls the door and leaves for her firm.