By: Isaac Lim
The iron-forged steel handle was cool to the touch, worn out from the stream of regular customers opening and closing the gateways to heaven. Patterns and engravings faded away to display the bronze that laid beneath it. The tinkle of bells and the exotic smell of freshly brewed coffee were the first things I noticed. The gentle crackling of the coffee beans was a tune I would never get tired of listening to. As I settled into a seat next to the view of the outside world, the café took on a different colour. The waiter hastily scribbled down my order as the sickeningly sweet scent of pastry wafted over to where I was seated. Protesting, my stomach growled louder than the proud lions of the Savannah.
The constant humming of machinery was hypnotizing; it was simply enchanting. The crushing of coffee beans by the gleaming silver contraption was like the crackling of wood in a fireplace. Humanity has just grown so much since the Industrial Revolution; back in the days of old, we crushed beans with our hands, but now we have chrome-plated automatons to do all the hard work for us. Looking around, there were so many things to take in: the waiters in their black and white uniforms, greeting and seeing off every customer whilst dishing out servings of coffee and meals to those sitting at tables; to my left, businessmen discussing plans to upgrade the parking lot next door; a couple arm in arm, sharing a cup of coffee and a slice of cake. Possibly a date. Their laughter floated across the room and seemed to lighten what I thought was a heavy and serious atmosphere with all the business discussions happening next to me. They made me wonder if my friend would be accepting of my proposal to move our relationship forwards, to be like them.
Turning away from the sights and sounds of the café, I began to imagine where she was and what she was doing. She was supposed to be here 10 minutes ago, but she is like a mythical creature, ever elusive - yet something about her was magical. Perhaps she was putting on makeup; her face was a canvas for the wonders her hands could work - each stroke of the brush accentuating a different part of her face. Perhaps she was picking out an outfit; an azure-blue dress which gleams and shines in the light like ripples underwater on the brightest summer day. Or maybe she wanted to go for something different today: a dress stained the crimson colour of blood, darker and more mysterious, completely contrasting the cobalt irises she possessed. Either way, I doubted she would have any problem silencing the room with just a glance. I looked down at the seat next to me at my weapons of persuasion: an exquisitely packaged box of Belgian dark chocolates, just the way she likes them, and a bouquet of roses, freshly picked and arranged by the most famous florist in the city.
After all, it was Valentine’s Day. The chimes of the door lifted my head up and there she was…
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