I stepped inside the quaint coffee shop, the bell above the door signaling my entrance to the capacity inside, deeply inhaling the calming scent of coffee. It was out of my way for sure, at least a 20 minute bus ride from where I live, but that didn't stop me from coming here. It was only 5pm but it was already dark, outside illuminated with streetlights and buildings. I glanced over to the corner with the two navy velvet armchairs, the comfiest seats this place had to offer and exhaled. 'Stop thinking about it', I warned myself. I continued my way over to the counter, ordering my black coffee and a muffin and paid before I took a seat as far away from the door as possible, comforting myself by the warm radiator to rid myself of the freezing temperature of the harsh winter weather. I took out my leather journal and my pen and observed the room around me and ended up getting lost in my thoughts.
I picked up the porcelain mug and brought it to my lips, taking a sip before placing it back on the table. I welcomed the bitter taste on my tongue as I swallowed the burning liquid. I tried to write. I did. But the best I could do was stare at the empty page and wish that I was good enough. Maybe, if I was, then he wouldn't have left, and I would still be able to write.
The bell above the door pulled me away from my all-consuming thoughts and I peered up to see a boy with dark messy hair and pink socks poking out of the tops of black Doc Martens. My heart got caught in my throat as the recognition of who was stood by the counter smacked me in the face. I ducked my head down, picking up my coffee and near enough sticking my head in my journal to avoid him spotting me. I wasn't prepared for this; yesterday's makeup that I didn't have the energy to remove, a black sweatshirt, which was actually his might I add - a fact I didn't even notice until this moment, some plain black joggers and my black Doc Marten boots, which just so happened to match his too. Fate was cruel.
I watched from my corner in the back of the shop, peering over my book that I held up to cover my face, as he ordered his coffee and made his way over to the opposite corner and took a seat in one of the navy armchairs. By this point, my heart felt like it was going to burst out of my chest at the sight of him, his sweater sleeves pulled to cover his hands, his eyeliner smudged across his eyes, more than usual, and his typical bubbly, hyperactive self seemed to have vanished into thin air.
I began slowly putting my journal and pen back into my rucksack, standing up and heading towards the door, or at least I thought I was. Before my brain could catch up with me, I was already standing over him at his table. My heartrate picked up as I realised what I was doing. I wasn't ready for this. I couldn't face him, not like this, but once again my brain seemed to be on autopilot, heading in a completely different direction before I could stop myself. My heart was doing somersaults in my stomach as I cleared my throat to catch his attention. He rubbed his eyes as he glanced up at me, taking in a sharp breath as his green eyes met my face.
He looked shocked to see me as he spoke softly, clearing his voice before he spoke, "Hi, I didn't expect to see you here," my knees were shaking, unsteadily keeping me up as I heard his voice, nothing compared to the spirited and passionate ball of energy I was used to.
"You're in our seats," I observed aloud, the tension between us almost becoming unbearable.
"Yeah, it calms me down a little, too much is going on and it's getting hard to keep up, especially after-"
"You don't have to explain, we don't have to talk about it," I cut him off, preparing to walk away.
"I think we do, there's a lot of things that got left unsaid, after we, you know, ended things," he hesitated, bright green eyes burning into mine mercilessly, "do you want to get out of here, we could talk, I could drive you home," he offered. Every bone in my body was weak as I tried my hardest to resist falling down the rabbit hole into Wonderland, but I couldn't bring myself to do it. I had to know why he left; why I wasn't good enough.
