Chimes

One

Hot, slim, sweet but strong. I wish I was describing her ideal girlfriend, but no, I was just talking about her choice of coffee.

She was there again, isolated from the rest of the world by her space gray in-ear Beats, sitting in the same corner table by the window farthest from the door with that annoying chime that announces every customer's ingress and egress. She always brought with her that green Perrier bottle like she was some meticulous rich kid who never drank water if it wasn't natural, sparkly and French.

The way she walked past everyone was almost fiendish that it felt like she owned the planet and every breathing creature should move aside to give her more than enough space she needs for passage. She always came alone and didn't carry anything but a retractable pen clipped to a black notebook, that rich-kid water bottle, her phone and presumably a credit card.

It's not like I didn't expect her to be there at four in the afternoon on a Wednesday. To be honest, that day was the fourteenth time I've noticed her in that place, always pushing through the glass door by 4pm, M-W-F, bringing in with her a distinctive condescending air. And on all the fourteen occasions, she wore the same style of clothing. It was always similar that I can already predict what I'd find in her closet. Not that I wanted to rake through her wardrobe, I'm just saying that she's become predictable to me now that we're on that topic.

Like I said, she wore the same clothes, comfortable and nothing flashy: black sneakers, tight jeans and ridiculously ginormous sweatshirts that were dark in shade and mostly without hoods because she always had a dad hat on. It was frustrating that she donned a cap in spite being indoors because it obscured her line of sight (and my line of sight to her eyes). With a hat always casting a shadow over her face, all I can gawk at were her interestingly cute lips that seemed repellant of smiles.

Consistency is not a virtue but maybe it was for her. She followed a scheme with her choice of clothes and restaurant visits, and I'm guessing she drank the same coffee too. Hot caramel macchiato, only with non-fat milk, an extra shot of espresso and one less pump of vanilla syrup. She liked it sweet but more coffee-y. Okay, I wasn't just guessing. She, in fact, ordered the same thing every time because on all the instances that I waited for her to leave, I read the receipts she left crumpled on her table. There was one time that I had to read through a coffee-soaked paper because she dunked the receipt ball into her half- drank cup. I wasn't desperate, I was just curious. Well, I was really curious.

There was just one thing that was off the consistency radar. Her coffee cups never had the same name written on them, which expectedly irritated me because I could not give her the right name when I thought of her.

Yes, after several days of just observing her and not daring to come any closer, I've developed a preposterous habit of letting her run incessantly through my mind. I've been thinking about her like I had nothing else to do the whole day. I've been thinking about who she was and what she had that turned my curiosity volume to full blast.

Was it the surreptitious way she approached the counter to order the same coffee over and over? A few times, while pretending to concentrate on a newspaper or a magazine I injudiciously snatched from the rack, I had sat near the counter to catch her brief conversation with the cashier. But my effort was futile that even the sound of her voice I couldn't hear. Every time was just a few seconds of indistinctive exchange. It came to a point where I thought that she might have written her order in that notebook and just showed it to the order taker just to elude talking.

Or was it the fact that all she ordered was coffee in a place that's not actually a coffee shop? I've tried half their menu and I cannot imagine how a normal person could leave that place skipping the desserts section.