I left home at 6:45 that morning, allowing myself enough time to walk to the coffee shop on the corner and still beat the Saturday morning rush. The walk seemed longer than usual as the brisk, late October wind hit me. I shoved my hands deeper into my peacoat pockets and quickened my pace until I reached the shop. I pulled the door open as the familiar bell rang above my head and entered into the welcoming warmth.
"G'morning, Em!" Avery, the barista behind the counter greets me. I suppose coming every Saturday at the same time for the last four years has made me well known by the staff here.
"Hey," I reply as I make my way to the counter.
"Pretty cold out, huh? Winter's gonna be here before we know it!" she says, making small talk as usual. I nod in agreement. "So, will it be the usual?" she asks me.
"Yes ma'am," I smile. She returns the gesture before turning her back to me to prepare my order. I check my phone as I wait. The time's now 7:03. 0 missed calls. 0 new texts.
"One venti chai tea latte with soy and an apple fritter," she says cheerfully. I pay for the drink and pastry and make my way to my usual seat at the two person booth in the corner by the large window and take the side that faces the door. I take a long, relaxing sip of the chai and feel it make its way down my throat and into my stomach, warming me from the inside out. Feeling much warmer now, I unbutton and remove my coat and set it in the seat across from me. I then reach into my purse and remove my copy of Farenheit 451 and begin reading it for the third time.
As always, I become engrossed in the book and don't stop to look up until the beginning of Part 2, The Sieve and the Sand. I check my phone again and it's 8:42. The coffee shop is bustling with people coming and going, not stopping to savor the relaxing Saturday morning. People stop in long enough to order, sit at a table to wait, and pay. Unfazed by the usual commotion, I return to my book.
Just as Montag is about to retrieve his copy of the Bible from the hall to show Mildred, I'm pulled from the story by a voice over me. Frustrated by both Montag's irresponsibility and this person's distraction, I let out a heavy sigh and look up. My eyes are met by a pair of brown ones so deep that they're almost black. Allowing my eyes to wander, I find that the eyes belong to a boy who's equally dark hair is lazily pushed back, his tanned skin completely smooth aside from the short stubble occupying his chin and jaw.
"Sorry, didn't mean to bother you," his deep voice comes gently, "I was just wondering if anyone's sitting here... All the other seats are taken." he says. I look around quickly to find that the shop is infact overly crowded.
"Uh, yeah. That's fine," I mumble, grabbing my coat from the seat opposite me. The tall boy slides into the seat and begins twiddling his thumbs. Assuming he isn't going to make small talk, I tilt my book back up to resume reading.
"Farenheit 451," he observes. I glance up at him then look back down to the words on the page. "I'm not gonna ruin the story for ya, but the ending's pretty sick," he says with a smile.
"Yeah, I know. I've read it before," I tell him, not looking up from the page.
"Wait, so why are you reading it again?" he asks. "I mean, what's the point? You already know what's going to happen," he continues.
"Yes, but you don't always catch or comprehend things the first time," I tell him, my annoyance becoming evident in my voice. "Reading isn't solely for entertainment. It's also for learning. The theme of a book can teach you a lot about life, and if you don't understand it the first time, it's a waste." I inform him, not once looking up from the page. When he doesn't respond for several seconds, I make eye contact with him. He has a huge grin as his eyes explore the details of my face.
"What?" I finally ask.
"You're something else," he says in astonishment. "I'm Zayn, by the way."
Finally allowing myself to crack a small smile, I set the book down by the window.
"I'm Emma."
YOU ARE READING
The First Copy {A Zayn Malik Fanfic}
Fanfiction7 months and 16 days. That's how long it's been since Emma Porter and her parents were hit by that drunk driver. Emma escaped with merely a broken clavicle, arm, and some second degree burns. Her parents weren't so lucky. For the last seven months...