memory

one. bittersweet

day one: write a scene that takes place in a coffee shop

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bittersweet { a story of chances }

JAS TAKES her usual seat at the very back of the coffee shop, in the corner near the window, bookshelves lining the wall behind her. She has been a regular in Matilda's ever since she was a young seventh-grader. Ironically, she never liked coffee. 

She puts down her usual cup of peppermint tea, no milk and no sugar, on the table and takes out her usual things from her messenger bag─the year-old journal she always carries around until every single page has been filled with ink, two sky-blue inked pens of .3 millimeters and a dull Faber Castell pencil which she rarely sharpens─each little thing organized in its proper place─the journal in front of her, the two sky-blue pens on its right side and the pencil on the left with the cup of tea on the upper right side, a few inches away from the pens and notebook (she wouldn't want the journal to get wet). As she takes a sip of the warm tea, her wandering eyes scan the dainty place, observing. 

Matilda's cafe was a fairly-large coffee shop located in the 22nd street, just a mere five-minute walk from Jas's apartment, and a fifteen-minute bus ride from the university she's studying in. Jas is a nineteen year-old journalism student in the local university and a columnist in the local newspaper. 

She puts down her cup and sighs softly. At this blessed hour of six forty-five, people would rather be sleeping soundly in their beds at a wintry Saturday morning than be sitting in a decade-old coffee shop, keeping warm with a cup of joe. It was the usual people with their usual cups sitting in their usual places that occupy less than a quart of the place in total. 

Not seeing anything new or interesting, Jas opens her journal and clicks her pen, twisting it on her fingers as she tries to think of something to write. 

ROB IS pacing the unfamiliar streets of Bayonne at a cold Saturday morning, trying to familarize himself with the new place. Coming from the busy streets of Chicago, he wasn't used to the silence of this place, even after four days of being here. As he walks along the twenty-second street, something makes him halt. 

It was an old coffee shop that caught his attention. Happy to see a place to think and keep warm, Rob enters the place with a faint smile on his lips.  

BITTERSWEET WAS the cafe's name. 

At half past seven in the morning, the place was slightly packed with different people and Rob liked it that way. Being a freelance photographer with a love for coffee and a fascination for old places, Rob finally found the subject and inspiration he was looking for. And it was no less than three blocks away from his new home. 

He takes out an old camera that was given to him by his father. It belonged to his grandfather and when he died, Rob's dad gave him the camera with the words 'Capture every moment, son.' As a nine year-old boy, he didn't quite fully understand his father's words. But fast-forward eleven years later, he realized what those words meant. It was moments like these that need to be captured. 

Click. The barista making espresso. 

Click. A lady raising her cup of coffee to her nose, the steam covering her closed eyes, a smile of satisfaction on her lips as the aroma fills her senses. 

Click. An old couple laughing quietly with each other. 

Click. Click. Click. 

Quite satisfied with the few pictures he took, Rob goes up to the counter to order his cup of black coffee with three tablespoonfuls of sugar, and scans the coffee shop for a place to sit. The place was packed, all the seats taken. Except for one. It was a table at the very back, in the corner near the window, that had an empty seat. He smiles a soft smile as he makes his way to the table. Only to find a lady sitting there. She was busy writing on a journal, her soft brown locks falling to her shoulders. Rob couldn't resist. He got out his camera from his bag and took a picture of the girl.