[✭] Fragrance of Dark Coffee

[shinn]

Can I ask you something? he said.
Yes. Of course.
Are we going to die?
Sometime. Not now.

The little boy at the age of ten opened the door for the teen, age sixteen—never mind that he could barely reach the handle since he was too short. She entered the café and claimed the sole table for two near the window. She was quite giddy and had a very ecstatic look on her face. Her eyes were big and bright, and were also signifying that she wanted to sit on that couch. Her eyes looked brightly at the little boy saying get this chair for me please, be a gentleman.

He sighed inwardly but did what he was told to do by those eyes. He wasn’t scared of the teen. He was just, tired. Maybe. Once she sat down, he did too.

A waiter approached the table and asked for the two patrons’ orders. She asked for chocolate milk. He asked for coffee. Black. While it seemed unusual for a ten-year-old boy to be drinking black (or coffee, for that matter), the waiter just wrote the order and completely threw away the strange thought. He left to place the orders. It was just the boy and the teen, now.

I don’t think we should see each other anymore, he said. He made no room for idle chitchat. He was expecting idle chitchat from the girl, or rather; he was expecting that the girl would start talking in her horribly small, shrieking voice about random things.

She blink e d . and her eyes grew Wi de r.

A puzzle conducted her face.

“What do you mean by that?” she asked. She looked surprised to the point that she was about to be struck by paranoia.

The waiter joined the party and delivered the goods—rather, the drinks. Coffee—black, for the little boy. Chocolate milk for the teen.

He took the coffee cup slowly and started sipping from the cup. It was quite warm, but he could handle it. He let silence talk for a while as he enjoyed the dark and bitter taste of the coffee. He let silence talk for a while as he enjoyed the dark and biter taste of solidarity.

She couldn’t touch her milk.

I’m just saying, he started. He placed the cup down and it created a soft yet wonderful sound of glass on glass action. He looked at her eyes. His eyes were droopy yet stoic. He repeated, yet continued: I’m just saying, I don’t think this relationship will work out. I’ve been experiencing a lot of problems ever since we started dating each other. It was time for coffee once more.

She remained skeptic and had a very “what is wrong with you” expression. Silence again, engulfed their conversation. It was a different kind of silence, in fact. A new visitor. Then.

“S-So… are you breaking up with me? I don’t understand!” she started stammering, too. “You know, I always do the best for you and—“

--I’m sorry if I’m immature for interrupting you, but. He paused and lifted a finger, as if to prove a point. His eyebrows joined together to create an angry expression in his face. He continued. Point the first: you are really childish. I remember you throwing a tantrum because your younger sister ate your last bar of chocolate. That was a turn-off for me.

He wanted to continue with his invalid-due-to-form arguments, but he stopped as he saw the girl’s eyes tearing up.

See, you’re really being childish about this. If someone broke up with me, I wouldn’t throw a fit.

He offered her a tissue to wipe her eyes with. But she refused to take it.

“But”, huff, “That bar of chocolate”, beat, “was really, really good”, sob, “I couldn’t possibly”, heave heave, “let her eat it”. Oh. She was done, finally.

And now you’re just being selfish. He tried as much not to say it in an offensive tone, but well, it couldn’t be helped. He continued. You already ate four bars of the same chocolate, why can’t you let her have the last one? It’s not like you’re going to die if you weren’t able to eat it, anyway. He paused. You could have told me to get you more if you really liked it, too. The tantrum and the crying was uncalled for.

She tried looking him in the eye, but she had lost the confidence to. Or rather, she was too full of pride to look him in the eye. He was wrong. She was right. Damn it. She took a deep breath and made sure she wasn’t going to sob or anything.

“It’s different. I saved that last bar for a special occasion. You really don’t understand, do you? And she could have asked permission before taking it, too.”

No, you’re the one who’s too attached to that bar of chocolate. It’s food, and you can get one anytime. You’re being overly materialistic. He took another sip from his cup again. It was half empty already.

She was out of words

Listen. Take this. He pushed his coffee cup to her side. Take a sip. You’ll know what I’m talking about after you try it.

And so she did.

“It’s bitter,” she said softly. She didn’t like it.

Like you, he said.