The guy behind the register was hardly skirting nineteen, nonetheless he looked proud and in control. There used to be simpler times when she could just ask for a small or large mocha at the corner bakery, but now she could carry out a whole conversation in grandes and ventis. He had chosen the starbucks; he was definitely a coffee drinker, the kind that would be in a coma each morning was it not for that strong cup of pike. She had reached there a good fifteen minutes before the deadline, she was never the tardy type whether it was work or pleasure. Somehow this was more important than all those projects that her boss demanded she show up for at the eighth stroke. Her mind was racing in a million directions, her thoughts, fears and hopes were suddenly in that large end-of-the-world collider she had read about last month. She had lost count of the “what if” questions at some point, and programmed herself to accept reality as it is. As one memory blurred into another, she thought back to the times when she had replayed this scene scores of times hoping to see a form to the silhouette.

It was a cruel game and fate tended to choose its victims with extreme prejudice. She had once wanted to be a rebel wading her way against the current, her charm and her smile were her weapons, and her steadfast dedication to her cause was her brown sugar. It was a beautiful day, and today she had even heard the birds chirp near her concrete adobe. She tried not to look happy, she wanted to be normal and her stoic self, and for the sixteenth time she had just told herself she was an impenetrable fortress. Melodrama was not her thing, she was the realist or that’s what she liked to think. But there had been a lingering void; she had looked far and hard and she tried to fill it with presumably fun things and memorable exploits. She had many reasons to smile that morning, but she was tired of repeating those reasons; her heart was right, but her joy was hard-found. Every night she forced herself to feel somewhat fulfilled but every morning she would wake up and talk herself into not dreading another day of loneliness. In a parallel universe, she might have worshiped the achiever, but she would imagine herself at Mr.Big’s side at that academic dinner and decided it was not her tea party. It felt like a lifetime ago and a heartbeat ago; here she was again – piqued by her curiosity, pestered by her family, teased by her friends, and buoyed by her optimism.

There were two people waiting for a free brew; she knew he was not the type that would be standing in line for a freebie. She had tried her best not to judge him, more than anything she did not want to preempt any potential shot at happiness. She felt confused, she was not sure how she could succumb to the pressure, but her mother had talked her into it. She had even heard good things about him, even sensed a certain depth in his character, and wanted to believe that he was more than the sum of his words. She was a smart girl, a detective of sorts, she would develop the full profile in the first three minutes; if he wore jeans, he wanted to feel more relaxed, but a shirt would trump a polo; if he wore a vest underneath it would mean he cares about his hygiene, if she could smell a strong cologne, he was trying too hard. She took another sip of that mocha and tried to tell herself not to jump to conclusions, but she couldn’t help wondering if he was he an answer or would he simply be another question, was he a solution or just another problem, was he genuine or just another wannabe. It was four minutes past the said time, and there was finally a new customer at starbucks. He stood in the doorway for a good five seconds before he spotted her and made his way to her table. She smiled for the first time on a Thursday. He wasn’t just another shadow.