Meaningless

iv.

The café always smells of coffee beans and cinnamon and butter. This had become our scene. Small bits of jazz floating over the hushed voices. The small chime hanging on the door. The coffee stain on the tablecloth. She probably feels the same way.

"This is what keeps me coming back," she says, smiling and leaning back, breathing in the air.

"Not the coffee?"

"It's okay. But isn't it just the same as anywhere else?"

"You didn't know, huh? They use a special Colombian French roast here, shipped straight from Hawaii."

"It all tastes the same to me."

"Should've guessed. You just dump sugar in it."

"Right. And you're so mature since you drink yours black." She laughs, crumbs hanging on her lips.

We are the same as always. Even now, we laugh and tease each other as if nothing will change.

That night on the Bridge, I'd seen a fragment of her genuine self. Until then, she had been an enigma, a part of her which had first attracted me. We never delved into one another's lives, instead, our conversations spanned within the boundaries of the present. The longer we spent time with each other though, cracks began to show through that perfect persona of hers. She became real, herself, vibrant, unpredictable. This was the effect of sharing memories together with someone.

I had never particularly wanted to understand others, only wanting to be understood. But she had sparked a desire within me to realize what drove her to exist. Every action she took seemed to be a beautiful yet hollow effort to breathe herself into an ephemeral world. I felt my connection to her becoming stronger than ever. But now, here we were. We sip our drinks as if nothing is wrong, as the afternoon sun shines through the tall, curtained windows and reflects off our cups.

"I really am glad I met you," she says, crossing her legs. "At the bar. You know that right? I thought it was going to be another boring mixer, then you came along. You made me laugh until I cried."

"Let's forget that night ever happened, how about it?"

"It was fun. It really was."

"Do you really have to go?"

"I do."

"Why?"

She plays with her hair, twirling, uncurling. Like a cat, playing with a ball of yarn.

"Do you remember? How I said everything was meaningless once," she says quietly.

I stare into my cup. Black liquid. Bubbles clinging to the rounded sides like reefs in the ocean. Vapor wisps trail slowly up to the ceiling, shimmering in the light.

"Lately, I think I've started to really understand what I meant that day," she says. "Sorry. I know I must have worried you, blurting something like that all of a sudden."

I smile and reach across the table, sliding my hand under hers. "Like I said before. Everyone has those urges. It's only natural to say how you feel."

She takes a long sip from her mug, like she's hiding behind it.

"You're right," she finally says. "But for some reason it's difficult. I'm afraid. If I let everything out, maybe, I'll lose myself. It won't only be how I feel—you know how selfish I am.

"You are. But so is everyone."

"You're completely wasted on me. Don't you think so?"

"I've never thought that. Not once."

She smiles faintly. "Thank you."

We sit in momentary silence, like a fragment of paused time. I feel her smooth palm weighing on my hand. I meet her eyes peering deep into my own.

We let the stillness drag like a paintbrush. There are so many things I want to tell her. But I can't think of the right words. Nothing I say would matter, even if I were to cry and beg and tell her how much I love her.

I drink my coffee.

"Hey," Her chair slides back as she stands. "I've got to get going now."

"Yeah, of course." I stand up with her.

"I'll call you, okay?"

"Sure."

She leaves. Briskly, her heels tap-tapping at the floor. The door opens and closes, the chimes sing.

I fall back to my seat.

An hour later, I am still there. Sipping my cup of cold coffee, the bitter aftertaste lingering in my mouth. Like the realization of something that can't be forgotten.