♪ Sometimes we fight, sometimes we get mad,

            sometimes we act colder than any other stranger – like ice.

                         But I still don’t worry about our relationship,

            because we’re good over one drink, just like the beginning..

 

 

“Excuse me? Hi.”

“Hello. Who are you?”

“...you don't know me?”

“...”

“...”

“I don't think so.”

“...”

“...should I know you?”

 

From the very first time I met you, I've felt a difference kind of vibe.

You. You were not interested in me. In the first minute of our conversation, your eyes barely left
the old-looking novel you were reading.

You didn't even know my name.

 

“Nevermind.”

I glanced at her empty cup of what was probably coffee.

“Do you want a refill of that?”

Her face lit up in response.

“Aah, you work here?”

I shot her an unbeliveable look and left. What was I thinking? I'm just gonna grab a drink and
leave.

 

“Good afternoon, what would you like t– oh!”

I nodded, ignoring the surprised look on the barista's face.

“Ah... Sorry, I didn't mean to be rude..”

“No, it's okay. Ice Americano, please.”

“Something to eat with that, Mir-ssi?” the barista asked with a too customer-friendly of a smile.
“A sandwich, perhaps?”

I was about to say no when a voice from behind me said, “Add a medium Cafe Latte, please!”

I turned around. It's the girl from before.

“My treat as an apologise for not recognising you. Please don't be sad,” she said with an amused
look on her face.

 

That is just how you are. You're kind, and you like treating people. For just any reason.
Sometimes they are too ridiculous, really – who in the world celebrates on finishing a book, or
succeeding in waking up early on a Sunday?

But that way, you've taught me to never take things for granted.

 

“Well, why not?” I crossed my arms across my chest. “Don't expect me to be courteous and reject
your offer.” I sneered at her, turning my head to the girl behind the counter. “She's gonna pay.”

“I'm gonna pay,” she repeated me in a sing-song voice.

“But I'm not sad.”

“Sure thing,” she chuckled while handing a few bills to the cashier. “What's with the Americano,
though?”

“Why? What's wrong with it?”

“It's such a boring drink of choice.”

“What?”

“What? It's true.”

“How could you– hold up.” I said, annoyed. “First you thought I was an employee, now you make
fun of my drink. On top of it all, you don't even know me.”

She stared at me blankly.

“S'been barely five minutes but you've offended me so much in so many way. Why did I even talk
to you in the first place?”

The barista called out our orders, awkwardly finishing me nagging at a seriously random girl I
just met. I was silently questioning myself when the girl quickly picked the orders up and headed
for her table. She took my drink. What the hell?

 

You have never, ever, ever stopped my whining. I admit, I can be fussy over the littlest things,
and when I'm annoyed, I talk a lot for a long amount of time. Everyone would either try to shut
my mouth or simply flee away from me, while you'd always stay. You would let me finish talking.
Once I asked why you would bear with my nagging; to that you replied, “Don’t you need
someone to listen?”

 

“Why'd you take my drink?”

“Come, sit down.” She gestured to the seat across her. I sat down.

“Do you like sweet things?”

“Huh?”

“You know, like candies, chocolates.”

“Yeah, I do. Why?”

“I knew it,”–she nodded, partly talking to herself–“and that’s why I thought something was odd.”

“You knew what? That I like sweet things?”

“Uh-huh. It's written on your face.”

 

I don't think there is anyone else who knows me like you do.

Even from the very beginning, it amazes me how much of me you had figured out by yourself.
After all this time, I'm still wondering if it's me who has been too transparent of a person, or it's
just you who’s frighteningly good at reading people? However, you... everyday, you would
surprise me. I had no clue at all what kind of person you were going to be. I didn't know how
smart you are. How strong you are.. and at the same time, how fragile you are.

The first time I saw you, I just thought you were pretty.

 

“That's one lucky guess.”

She laughed. “Yeah, guess I was lucky.”

A few moments passed in silence as we both drank our coffees.

She took another sip. I cleared my throat. “...And now?”

“Ah. Yes,” she put her mug down. “So. Point is, you're missing out one of the greatest things to
ever exist in this world.”

“And that is?”

She lifted her mug again. “Better coffee.”

I scoffed, but intrigued.

“Latte. Cappuccino. Frappé.”–her eyes lit up as she she proceed–”Flat white. Macchiato. Panna
Montata. All those blessed, blessed drinks.”

“Eh. Those drinks are for girls. Everyone drinks Americano, anyway.”

“That's your mistake, Mister, for thinking that everyone drinks Americano. I don’t get it – I mean,
the society don't owe you anything, you're free to drink whatever you like. If you like sweet
things, why not go for a Caramel Macchiato?” she looked genuinely confused. I coughed a laugh.

 “You know those airport photos?”

She hummed in reply.

“Imagine an airport photo of me, holding a glass of Caramel…what was it again–”

“Macchiato,” she said softly.

“–Macchiato, complete with the whipped cream thing–they do add whipped cream, right?–Man, I
don’t even want to imagine…”

She drew a meaningful smile. I frowned.

“...What?”

“I dare you.”

 

Until the very last word we said to each other that day, not once you mentioned about who I was.
My status. My job. The hell with them.

You took interest in me, not as someone you see on TV, but simply, as a person.

Stubbornly convincing me that I need to switch to “better coffee”.

And that's how it started - over one drink.