Daisies • Zarry

1. A good place to read

Zayn sat at the same table at Daisies Coffee Shop every day; the one in the back corner where there wasn't a window so the lighting was a little dimmer, the one near the bathrooms and next to the speaker that played a lot of country music at around two in the afternoon when Zayn showed up after his third class at Whitman University.

And he'd slink in quietly with his dark, olive colored rucksack tossed over one shoulder and a book in his hand and he always sat down at that same table nobody else ever sat at and opened Ariel by Sylvia Plath, just waiting for Anne, the owner, who reminded him of his mother but warmer, and she was always there.

She saw Zayn every time and made a point to ask him if he wanted his usual cappuccino, and he always said "yes please" and she brought it over to him with a side of almond biscotti on the house because Zayn was a regular customer.

Anne was so nice to him, and he liked her.

He leaned his head in his hand, dark hair sticking out under a crimson colored beanie and his brown eyes that laid behind long eyelashes glanced up from his book and looked behind the counter, observing these two high school girls in yoga pants that Anne just hired texting on their phones, not even paying attention to the line of customers forming and it irked Zayn that some people had such a terrible work ethic. He hated that most people his age were plugged into their phones like mindless, automated robots, obsessed with technology and selfies and social media and likes, just teenagers that required such validation to feel good about themselves and he thought it made everyone seem artificial and self absorbed.

Zayn preferred a good book to get lost in and he had no limitations of what he liked to read. He liked comic books or graphic novels, poetry books and autobiographies on anyone interesting. Zayn liked Vonnegut and Hunter S. Thompson, Bram Stoker's Dracula, Carl Sagan or even Harry Potter but he didn't have instagram, twitter or facebook and he liked it that way. If Zayn wasn't reading he had a sketchpad in his hands with a set of charcoal pencils or prismacolor markers and he sat outside people watching and wondered what their lives were like. Zayn thought that people spend too much time on the internet and forget how to experience the world around them and Zayn didn't want to be like those people. He noticed one girl nudging the other and she slipped her phone into her back pocket.

"Sorry! What can I get for you today?" she said, pretending as if the older woman waiting wasn't completely annoyed by her lack of attention on her job, but it was written all over her face and Zayn couldn't blame her.

He shook his head to himself and went back to Ariel.

Kindness glides about my house. Dame Kindness, she is so nice! The blue and red jewels of her rings smoke. In the windows, the mirrors are filling with smiles.

He glanced at the time on his gold Nixon watch which read quarter past two and Zayn knew that he had fifteen more minutes to breathe, but he showed up to Daisies earlier than he usually did and Zayn wasn't prepared to see him walk in just yet. He felt his body tense up and his palms were sweating slightly as the boy walked in through the front door, the bell ringing, running his hand through his long, curly, mouse brown hair that fell just above shoulder length and he smiled brightly at everyone that he walked passed like he always did and Zayn wondered how his smile didn't blind anybody.

Zayn had to remind himself to breathe whenever he saw him.

His name was Harry and he showed up to Daisies at exactly 2:30 in the afternoon every day, except that day he was early for some reason, and Harry walked up behind the coffee bar counter to talk to Anne. Zayn couldn't hear what they were saying to each other, just incoherent mutters, but since Anne was Harry's mother, Zayn knew that it was probably personal and he felt bad for trying to eavesdrop, so he looked back down at his book and turned the page.