Not Just The Coffee

It's 630 pm on my laptop's digital clock. The sky's gloomy again. It has been for the past two weeks. The drizzle just stopped but I'm quite sure that it will drizzle again later, if not another downpour.

It's cold, but not cold enough to throw a jacket over my shoulders. I'm here on the porch, watching the dark skies and as if a contagious disease, I felt as gloomy as they looked.

I shouldn't be here.

I suddenly craved for coffee. The aroma, the mixture of flavors of different coffee beans infused with cream and sugar. Closing my eyes, I imagined myself walking into my favorite coffeeshop in Katipunan. The one I spend hours upon hours in. Starbucks.

Clutching my innocent orange striped tote, inside it are my laptop, a note pad, pens, cellphone and my digital camera. I would walk up to the counter and scan the coffee selections. What would it be this time?

I would normally get a safe Mocha Frappucino Venti, decaf plus a shot of peppermint. But with weather like this, I will opt for something steaming hot.

Cafe Mocha with Peppermint would be nice. But that would just be like Mocha Frap, except that it is hot.

Cinnamon Struesel would be nice but it's no longer available.

My favorite Marshmallow Mocha only shows itself during Christmas.

I would let the person behind me order first as I make one final selection.

Ah... yes. I would like that one. Non-fat White Chocolate Mocha Venti. It's one of my favorites and one of my most memorable Starbucks concoction. And I would add cinnamon swirl with it.

It would be my lucky night as my favorite couch near the corner would be vacant. So there, with my laptop and digital cam, I would park myself, waiting for inspiration to strike.

A few moments then it hit. That blessed girl in black shirt and green apron would call my name and hand me my coffee. But that just the start of it.

As I would take my first sip, I would look up and see him walk into that door after shedding his umbrella somewhere. He would go to the counter to get something for himself then choose a table near mine. He would open his laptop the same moment as I would open mine. Then the barista will call his name for his coffee on the counter.

I know his full name but I'd rather call him Thursday.

He's not really my crush but I just love looking at him and watching him work with his mug of coffee.

So he'll be minding his business there, doing stuff in his computer while I'll be in my little corner, writing another mediocre story about my qualms about love and life. I'll glance at him every so often, thinking about what I should write next or how I'll twist the story this time.

Maybe this time, I'll write a love story about two people meeting in a coffeeshop and having a conversation over coffee. But the love story wouldn't be between the two of them, it'll be about them and their coffee.

People think that I only go to Starbucks for the status symbol. I go there for inspiration. And it's not just the coffee. It's the people you see and the aroma you smell. The noise you hear and the taste of freshly brewed coffee on your lips.

A couple of hours later, with my empty cup and pages of a fresh new story, I would get up, gather my things together and walk out. Thursday is now outside, no longer working but laughing with his friends, who arrived half an hour earlier.

The rain has stopped. I would step out of the shop and walk by their table. I would glance at him at the exact moment he would lift his eyes and for a fleeting moment our gazes meet. He would go back to laughig with his friends and I will walk out into the sunshine.