“A coffee maker?”
“Yes. Do you like it? I noticed every morning that you would always drink Americano, so I bought this as an early birthday gift.”
He smiled with his eyes that showed pureness. He’s actually a nice guy. Has stellar grades, a handsome face, and a charming eye smile, comes from an esteemed family (his parents are both lawyers), and is respectful to everyone. He has this calm demeanor that princes from fairy tales embody and leadership that showcases his maturity. He’s a man you would love to introduce to your family someday. The dream of almost every woman, but me.
“I appreciate the gift, but I can’t accept this.”
To reject him would make me look bad, but I need to. I had to. I want to.
“But why? I thought you like coffee. It’s really a birthday gift, nothing more.”
“I’m sorry. It’s just that I…”
I don’t love Americano. I don’t like coffee at all. I hate it.
I only drink coffee because of this certain someone. Someone who lent me her umbrella that one rainy afternoon when I forgot to bring mine. Someone who romanticizes being late, but later changed because I hate tardy people. “I’ll be early from now on, don’t hate me please”, she said. It’s not like I doubted her. She’s just always honest. She just always wants me to know what she feels or thinks. That’s why when she broke up with me, I was left wondering. Clueless. A goodbye without an explanation.
She’s not supposed to be like that. A passing stranger who should not matter after a few coincidences. A suffocating smoke from a cigar that will disappear after a few seconds. Definitely not a wave that comes but never stays.
I swallowed an invisible lump in my throat. It always has been this way. Ever since she uttered the words “we’re not supposed to be together”, I always find it hard to accept that she’s already gone. Away from my sight, from my arms, but never in my heart.
“You just what?”
I got pulled out of my reverie. I did not finish my reply. Silly me.
“I already have one.”
I don’t.
“Is that so? Alright, I’ll just give you another gift.”
This time I just smiled. Not wanting to indulge in the subject anymore. Sipping my still-hot Americano reminded me again how much I hate it. However, as much as I hate the bitter taste of coffee, I hate not remembering more at all.
That certain someone who loves drinking coffee while I drink my hot chocolate. The smile she gives me after her first sip. That light peck on my cheek when I buy her favorite drink. That light squeeze she does on my hand when I feel anxious about anything. My favorite being and her beloved coffee – embedded in my heart and mind like a permanent curse.
This drink, no matter how bitter it is, will always give me the comfort that I was once her world.
Written by: wanderer
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