The girl pushes open the glass door and steps into the café, breathing in the fragrance of coffee beans and pastries as it enfolds her in a familiar embrace. Her high heels slightly wobbling, she walks over to a table by the floor-to-ceiling windows and sits. The slanted sunlight of mid-afternoon casts her awash in a gentle, inconspicuous spotlight, her dark hair absorbing its warmth, a shawl over her bare shoulders.
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She wears a white sleeveless tunic and teal cropped pants. A pair of navy-rimmed glasses rests on the bridge of her nose, and tiny platinum crescents dangle from her ears.
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“Good afternoon,” says the waiter pleasantly. He holds a little notepad and a pencil, prepared to jot down her orders. “What would you like to drink today?”
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The girl smiles up at him, her eyes glittering, and points two tables away at another waiter serving a tall, clinking glass of iced matcha: a beautiful palette replete with a regal emerald at the bottom that forms a gradient up to the frothing, sea-foam white at the surface.
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Her waiter follows her gaze, gives her a knowing smile, and scribbles something down on his notepad. He asks, “Would you like anything to eat?”
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The girl shakes her head, saying nothing.
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The waiter nods, says, “Wonderful. Your drink will be ready shortly.” He leaves.
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The girl turns her eyes out the window, gazing absently at dragonflies flitting about over the rectangular fountain outside, butterflies fluttering from the flowers of one potted plant to another, small children chasing a small dog, mouths agape in delightful laughter.
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When her drink comes, she trails a finger down the side of the glass, swiping through the sheen of condensation on the cold surface. She brings the straw to her mouth and sips, eyes wandering back out the window, at the film rendered silent by an invisible wall.
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Suddenly, something slams into the glass, and she startles, mouth parting in surprise. It’s a bird, she realizes, watching it drop pathetically onto the ground, twitching then still.
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She reaches out, and this time trails her finger down the window glass from where the bird had hit. She lifts her gaze from the bird’s motionless form and watches as dragonflies flit centimeters over the water’s surface, as butterflies dance upon stages of various blossoms, as small children are chased, giggling with glee, by a small dog.
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The other patrons of the café chatter in hushed tones, sip their myriad of drinks, nibble upon macarons and waffles and panna cottas.
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