quartz street ➢ brad simpson [au]

nine

// brad // 

It was three o’clock.

It was three o’clock and the wooden chair across me was empty.

It was three o’clock and I had no one to stare at for the duration of my break.

Was she late? She was never late.

I’ve been spending all of my breaks with her for two straight weeks and she unexpectedly disappears one day.

Was it okay to miss someone I’ve never had?

I brought with me outside a book—Henry V—that I planned to read, just to hopefully catch her attention.

It was an old copy, its pages turning yellow and the spine ready to give up.  

I didn’t even know if she liked Henry V.

I took off my sunglasses, threw them beside my cup on the table outside the coffeehouse, and, before I knew it, crossed the street with a mixture of frustration and disappointment.

It was the first time that I’ve set my foot on the pavement opposite the coffee shop.

Her chair stared back at me. It looked dull without her.

I put down the book on the wooden table next to it and placed a sugar packet I stole from the coffee shop on the cover, next to the V.

I left the sugar because I didn’t want to leave a note—my handwriting wasn’t the best, and maybe I wanted to be a little poetic.

Hopefully she’ll somehow understand that it was me who left the book there because I needed it back; it’s my grandmother’s copy.

I was ready to leave, almost about to turn around, when the door of the bookshop opened, the tinkle of the tiny red bell at the top of the doorframe catching my attention.

It was three-ten.

It was three-ten and there stood a girl in front of me, with pure confusion and shock evident in her eyes.

Her eyes were green.