January 9^th 2016

You take a step inside the familiar and cozy café you’ve been calling your second home for the past two years. Half of your face buried inside your thick blanket scarf as you walk towards a two-table seats in the corner you claim to be yours, right by the small window that has the perfect view of the street. You didn’t really care for the views, of course it was a plus, but you actually love this spot because it has the perfect lighting for reading.

Reading is something you can do for hours. You love to read, it’s an addiction you’re glad to have. Books are your drugs. Something that could put your mind at ease, a distraction from your boring reality.

You tug on your thick scarf and set it on the other seat, along with your black trench coat. You walk towards the barista you’ve grown to be fond of, hands in your cardigan’s pockets as you watch him work. Just as you were about to call out his name to get his attention, his eyes met yours.

“Regular?” he asks, while holding onto a white mug.

You nod your head, “Of course,” You come here so often that all the baristas know what you usually order; a warm caramel macchiato. You don’t usually like to try new drinks, why? Because you’re scared you might not like it. Another thing you know too well about yourself, you like to stay in your comfort zone. Sometimes the barista would give you a free drink, and you take it with gratitude, but nothing beats caramel macchiato. The perfect balance between the bitterness of the espresso shots and the sweetness of the caramel syrup suits your taste very much.

“One caramel macchiato for Y/N,” You slip your fingers around the handle of the mug, holding on to the warm cup with your two hands as you walk back to your seat.

You take a deep breath, as you pick up the thick novel you’ve been reading for the past few days. The librarian basically threw herself at you a few days ago when you went to return a book you were reading before this one. “Y/N, you need to read this one. You’ll love it!” she said. Even though you’re not a fan of romance, you took the book anyway and promised her that you will read it.

As you slip out of reality and into the main character of the book, you feel yourself muting any other noises except for your own voice inside your head as you read the words on the page. You would only let your eyes wander out of the page when you need to take a sip of your macchiato.

A few hours has passed, and you just finished your third cup of macchiato. You turn your head to the window, watching the sun slowly sinking back into the horizon. The subtle colors of blues, yellows and oranges are mixed harmoniously with one another on the sky.

Evenings are your favorite time of the day. The change between day and night fascinates you. You softly whisper a quote you remember seeing to yourself, “The sun loved the moon so much. He died every night to let her breathe.”

“How sad,” he takes a nearby chair from another empty table and sits in front of you.

You shake your head to disagree, “Really? I think it’s beautiful.”

“It is, but also sad,” the off duty barista run his fingers through his dark brown hair, pushing his fringe to the side, “because he can never truly be with her, they are always separated.”

“Not exactly,” you said, folding your arms as you rest them on the table, “there’s always dawns and evenings.”

The boy his head to the side, “that’s true,” he said, biting his lower lip.

Out of all the baristas that works here, the boy sitting right in front of you is your favorite. Not because of his physical features, although he is pretty good looking, but he’s your favorite because he would always talk to you for a few minutes right after his shift ends. He would sit in front of you and ask you about the book you’re reading. Once in a blue moon, you got curious and asked him why he would always do that. “I don’t like to read, and I always see you here with a book glued over your face. You always have this intense look in your eyes when you’re reading, I guess I just wanted to know what’s so interesting.”

The boy pulls out an envelope from his pocket, fanning himself with it and then putting it down on the table, “My last paycheck.”

Your eyes widen up. You totally forgot! You forgot that a place that you call your second home is closing down in just a few days. A flashback of the owner entering the café with a possible buyer flashes through your head. “My manager told us he wants to sell the place because it reminds him too much of his deceased wife. Apparently it was the wife’s idea to open up a coffee shop, and now that she’s gone, he doesn’t want to have anything to do with it,” said one of the barista working that day.

“I don’t want to believe this…” you tug on your cardigan, hugging yourself with the warm fabric, “I mean, where am I going to read my book now? This was my ‘hole-in-a-wall’ you know?”

He nods his head, “Yeah, I know what you mean. I love working here. The management is great, the customers are friendly, and it’s so cozy and comfy here.”

Just the thought of seeing this place all locked scares you. This is what you mean by you hating to get out of your comfort zone. This place is your comfort zone, and now it’s closing down. You need to find a new place, ASAP. But it wont be easy, you know that for sure. Nothing can beat this place.

The wooden floor that makes you feel like you’re somewhere near a lake at your cottage. The annoying graffiti written all over the walls; confessions, names, special dates, even phone numbers. The worn out tables and chairs that you love to sit on for hours. This whole place screams out memories. The memories of you sipping on macchiatos as you dive into the many novels you finished here.

“Have any suggestions of a good quiet cafés around here?” you ask the boy, taking a sip of your macchiato.

The boy pouts his lips, “Sorry, I know nothing about this city, but this place and the bus terminal.” He doesn’t live in the city, he lives in a lively city right beside this one. You see the boy fiddling with the envelope on the table, his eyes avoiding yours, “Maybe you can take me around later.”

Even though this boy is your favorite barista, you don’t see him in that way. He is simply just a barista that makes your drink and talk to you for a few minutes when he is off. You are single, but you’re not looking for anything. You like being single, it doesn’t bother you.

You give him a friendly smile, “I don’t know much about the city either to be honest, I don’t go anywhere but this café, the library and home.”

The boy glances up, a stain of pink around his cheeks. He lets out a nervous laugh and begin to scratch the back of his neck. “That’s okay,” he lied, “Well, if we ever see each other again around this city, maybe we can grab a coffee.”

Little did you know, that the boy have been dying to confess his feelings for you since the first day he saw you sitting in the corner of the café. He was blown away when he saw the familiar cover page of his favorite book glued over your face. In all honestly, reading is also a hobby of his. But he pretended that he didn’t like reading just so he could talk to you. He figures if he was just to walk up to you and start a conversation about the weather or your day, you’d be annoyed. So he lied. He lied to see your face up close. He lied just so he can see your beautiful smile whenever he asks a stupid question about the characters in your book. He lied so he can see you brushing off your perfectly long brown hair to the side when it gets in the way. He was a liar, and the rejection he just heard coming out of your soft pink lips he’s been dying to taste has finally lifted off a heavy burden off of his shoulder. If we ever see each other again, I’ll make sure to show her the real me, he thought to himself.

You nod your head, waving your hand up as you watched him walk out of this café for the very last time. You pick up your book off the table and flip to the part where you left off, slipping off from the boring reality for a few more hours.

The sound of someone calling your name broke you out of your bubble. You turn your head to see the barista with a mug on her hand. You put your book down and walk towards her with a smile on your face. “Hey, what’s up?” you ask her.

“On the house,” she gives you a playful wink as you take the warm cup of green tea latte from her.

“Thanks a lot,” you walk back to your table with your fourth cup of drink today. You look at the screen of your phone, the time is now 9:30 PM and the café is closing in half an hour. You decided to finally put the bookmarks between the pages where you left off and to just sit and watch city from the small window right beside you.

You watch the couple from the other side of the road, the male holding the female tight by the waist as they cross the street. You can’t help but to picture yourself like that with the barista you just rejected, if we ever meet again.

After you finish your green tea latte, you get up from your seat and begin to bundle up to face the cold winter night.

“It was really nice having you around,” said the barista

You turn around, your face now half covered by your scarf. “Thank you so much for having me here for the past couple of years, it’s too bad this café is going to close down. It’s my favorite place to read,” the thick scarf muffled out your voice, but the barista heard everything, since you were the last person to be here.

“There’s a similar café nearby the bus terminal, it’s not as quiet as this one since it’s much more popular, but it’s really cozy,” said the barista, “it’s called Snakes and Ladders.”

“Snakes and Ladders? Awesome, I’ll make sure you check it out,” you said, you slightly bow to her and step out of your second home for the very last time. You turn around and take a last look of the comfy café you stumbled upon the winter of 2014. The worn out paint on the sign of the café seems so normal when you walk by it on a daily basis, but now that you are closely looking at it, you feel a tiny sense of relief that this place is closing down. A new start would be good for this place, you thought to yourself, Goodbye.

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