It was one of those January mornings: cold enough to hug the shrug close to her, warm enough to feel like the world still mattered and the empty coffee shop she was sitting in was not just a painfully perfect aide memoire of the past; the city was still asleep on a lazy Sunday morning.
She took a deep breath and held on to the delicious whiff of freshly baked croissants…
She savoured her Caffè Verona, a seductive blend of beans from Latin America and Indonesia, with a tender touch of Italian Roast lending depth, soul and sweetness to the drink. She smiled at the irony: Verona was where Shakespeare chose to stage his tragic Romeo-Juliet romance…
She flicked through the coffee table book, carelessly glancing through the pages which did not interest her yet captured her eye, pretty much like the world around her…
She tilted her head, trying to sing along with music playing in the background but gave up when it changed its tune just the way things eventually faded away to make way for something new…
She stared at the hand-polished woodwork and the wooden blinds, her eyes resting for a second on the settee at the corner, before moving on to the wall hangings, yet stealthily casting glances back on the settee, refusing to completely let go…
And something stirred inside her; she left her coffee unfinished, hurriedly paid the bill and ran out without waiting for the change…
The change can wait, she couldn’t afford it then…
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