Shreya bites her bottom lip as she enters the café. She flattens out the nonexistent wrinkles on her white, long-sleeved kurti. Shreya's favourite outfits usually consisted of a simple kurti and jeans, although, she had learnt that kurtis were not very fashionable in America.
What to do? Ask for Jordan? Sit at table three?
She goes up to the cashier, who greets her as usual, "Welcome to La Vie En Rose. What can I get you?"
"Hi, um," Shreya says awkwardly, "Jordan has something of mine and he said to meet him to pick it up."
The cashier clucks her tongue, "Sorry, sweetie, Jordan's not here today. He's got soccer practice."
Disappointment floods through her. Shreya without her journal was like a coffee shop without coffee.
Ha, her inner self snorted, that's what you get for trusting a strange person. A strange boy at that.
But he did seem nice over the phone.
All boys seem nice, Shreya,she could hear her mother chiding, but that doesn't mean you have to trust them.
"Oh, okay," she mutters, pouting slightly.
"Wait," the dark-haired barista says from behind his station on the left of the cashier, "You're Shreya?"
Shreya nods.
"Oh, Jordan sent your book for you. Veronica, I'm going to get it, cover for me."
YOU ARE READING
La Vie En Rose
Short StoryThe story of a girl who leaves her journal in her favourite café and the boy who finds it.
