As the deadline neared, my hands became quicker. I wiped the table, washed the milk steamer, and cleared the counter. The small paper bag he'd left behind was still there. It was light and quiet. When I lifted it, a sweet scent wafted out faintly.
I took the envelope to the trash can and stopped. My hand didn't move from the lid.
If I throw it away, it'll be over.
The word "end" kept catching in my throat. I put the envelope in my bag, turned off the lights as if nothing had happened, and locked the door. The doorbell rang, and darkness slowly seeped into the cafe.
Returning to my small room, I took the envelope out of my bag and placed it in the drawer. The drawer slammed shut, making a slightly loud noise. I opened it again and put it back in. This time, I closed it with a gentle push. Perhaps this is what it felt like to fold memories. I swept the surface of the drawer with my palm, turned off the light, and lay down.
Sleep didn't come easily. Scenes from the daytime slowly floated across the ceiling. His voice, low and clear... I closed my eyes to avoid seeing the scene. There are nights when you can see better when you close your eyes.
Today was like that.
Finally, I got up and opened the veranda window. A gust of cold air came in. My breathing slowed down a bit.
The next day, my wrist was the first to react to the alarm. My hand hurried a little to reach for my watch. I chuckled for no reason. Even though I had plenty of time to get to work, my pace was faster than usual. Just because I was faster didn't mean the time had gotten faster.
Still, I practiced the sound of the door opening as I walked. The bell rang, footsteps were heard, and a black hat entered. I was standing at the counter, my expression unchanged. Practice always arrives later than the nerves.
Just as I was taking a breather after finishing preparations for the opening, the door opened. It wasn't a hat. A stroller and some elderly neighbors entered first. I gave a brief greeting and made myself a latte. Even as I poured milk into my cup, my gaze kept drifting toward the door. It was... a feeling of anticipation, almost a habit. The word "anticipation" felt unfamiliar, so I mentally gave it a different name.
OK. Just checking.
He arrived a little later than usual. There seemed to be no particular reason. His pace was slow, and his expression was as serene as ever. I raised my head too quickly, then lowered it a little more slowly. The lines were familiar.
“Is it okay to stay in the same spot today?”
He nodded. Just that much. A brief silence followed, and the order continued.
“Iced Americano.”
Brownie didn't say anything. I didn't ask. The fact that yesterday's envelope was in my bag suddenly felt weighty. Just as my hand was about to settle down while pouring coffee, he spoke quietly.
“I was a bit like that yesterday.”
He didn't add any explanation. There were things I could understand without further explanation. I nodded.
“It’s okay. There are days like that.”
Only after I spoke did I realize my voice was softer than I'd expected. He smiled briefly. It didn't last long, but it didn't fade. The only thing that remained was the distinct sound of coffee dripping over ice. A black light rose from the clear glass. The scene felt strangely reassuring.
He went to the window and sat down. I took the orders and wiped down the table. There weren't many customers today. It was the awkward time between lunch and afternoon. I considered turning on some music, but my hands stopped. The speakers were silent, and the only sound was the faint clang of a spoon against a cup.
I took a temporary sticker out of the drawer and stuck it onto the holder. I used to write the date and weather on the label every day. Today, I stopped and picked up the pen again.
‘Clear :)’.
I wrote one more letter and put down my pen. I was afraid someone might read it.
No, to be exact, I didn't write any more because I was afraid he would read it.
A short break was given. An employee came in and got some coffee.
“He’s here again.”
My colleague said with a smile, and instead of answering, I opened a bag of sugar.
“It’s always the same place.”
My colleague's words drifted out the window. I didn't look up.
He glanced at the counter a few times. It became increasingly easy to ignore his gaze. I knew he was watching me, and I thought he knew I was trying to ignore him. I sometimes wondered who this strange courtesy was benefiting. The word "courtesy" sometimes resembled defense. The desire to avoid hurting each other, without even realizing where it might ultimately lead.