Sitting at the café downtown while watching people walk by through the glass window, I feel amazed to discover so many differences and uniqueness in every single person and how those diversities also make us as one, a human being.

Wandering my eyes around me, I can see a group of teenagers laughing while still trying to keep quiet, a couple that keeps their gaze on each other all the time, a waiter who is smiling warmly toward a customer to a woman in a floral blue dress who is posing with her hands as her face is facing straight to a camera.

I do not know how to say this, but I actually can see their color. Their own color that is showing through the mirror of their soul, color that represents themselves, their true selves. A man that is being serious while typing with his laptop, with one hand holding his phone to his left ear, he is grey. A woman who is putting down her cup of coffee while leaning her body toward her friend, trying to listen more clearly, she is yellow. A kid that never leaves his eyes from his game controller, not even minding me who sat in front of him for a moment before as I was waiting for an empty table, he is green.

I know that might sound really crazy, but that is how it is. Sometimes I would understand the meaning of it if I try to find out but let’s just say that I am too lazy to do that for everyone. Looking down to the first floor, as my table is positioned near the stairs so I can easily overlook the busy bartenders who are slowly pouring the cream on top of the coffee while chatting with the customers sitting in front of them, maybe explaining the origin of the coffee bean or something. I am still engrossed in my observation until my best friend who has been working for her report kick my foot slowly from under the table, to get my attention.

“Don’t you have work to do?” She snaps at me as I smirk. I know she does not want to be the only one suffering on writing her report so she clearly does not like to see me slacking off.

“Hmm yes, but I don’t want to do it now. I want to continue my stories, maybe even write a new short one.”

She tries to take a peek of my mac book screen, as she discovers the blank page, without even a word written. Before she could say anything, I defend myself quickly.

“I need to figure out my characters first, so I was having an observation, not slacking off.”

Raising one of her eyebrows, she narrows her eyes at me, not believing any of my words. But then she just shrugs it off and turns her focus on her work. I figure she must be running out of time because usually, she would keep on teasing me, or even annoy me to no end. Shaking my head, I look back to the long table downstairs, continue searching for an alluring character and a color that suits my mood at this moment. Until of course, a voice interrupted me again.

“So, what kind of story do you want to write this time?”

“A sad one.” I mumble as my eyes catch the color of her.

Mysterious, full of sarcasm, and a loner who loves to be by herself and sometimes longing for silence. Also cool, independent, do not care of other people’s view on her. That’s how she is, black.

“Hmm, instead of strangers that you don’t even know. Why don’t you write about the people closes to you? Or maybe, a story of yourself?”

Tilting my head, I am wondering why she is interested in my writings. She never did, and now she is giving me suggestions.

“I mean, you wrote a lot about, you know, ‘strangers’. So why don’t you write about yourself? That’s your story anyway, you can pour out everything from your heart.”

I still do not know why she is telling me this until I feel the sudden pain inside. Closing my eyes, I try to find the answer to why am I suddenly feeling these emotions again that I try so hard to run away from. Sadness, longing, hurt. Maybe they never go away, they always there beating along with my heart, but I was too numb to realize it.

Desperately running my fingers over the keyboard, I eventually start to write about that one person.