She sat in a coffee shop with a journal opened to a blank page. A blue pen sits by her right side while a steamy green mint tea stands by her left hand. She faces the window watching the people walk along the cobble stone path. She breathes in the smell of fresh coffee and cinnamon buns. Her nose twitches at the smell in slight annoyance. Cinnamon. Overflowing, intoxicating, nauseating smell of cinnamon consumed her quaint coffee shop. Her cheeks are still red from the chill outside. The clouds scatter across the sky creating a tranquil atmosphere. The perfect weather that made you want to cuddle up to someone you cared about and watch old films. The perfect setting of a love story. A story she should write. A story she should have already written. But instead she stares at the blank page with a mixture of sadness and frustration. The pen is itching to be held in her delicate pale hand. She sighs. Waiting for some sort of miracle to hit. For some light bulb deep inside her brain to switch on. Waiting for some sort of feeling to fill her with creativity and hope. But it’s as if her brain has been shut off and the circulation of blood that was flowing to her hands was suddenly cut off.
The door to the coffee-house chimes open. She catches a whiff of cologne. The smell draws up familiar memories of past friendships, of old adventures, of high school. Memories of heart ache and laughter. A small smile plays against her lips. She hears in a distance a deep voice order a black coffee with two sugars. For some reason the voice touches her. Deep. She picks up the pen. It feels cool and smooth to the touch. It feels like an old friend. She hears heavy steps come up behind her. From the corner of her eye she sees a toffee colored hand place itself on the chair across from her. “May I sit?” The deep voice asks. She looks up slowly. She meets the steady gaze of deep brown eyes. She doesn’t speak. She can’t. Her brain had woken up when she picked up the pen but now it’s as if it had short circuited and fried. Too afraid her voice will come out as a squeak she simply nods. His smile makes the corners of his eyes crinkle and he pulls out the chair and sits down. She smiles back feeling her body come back to life, her brain waking up from its slumber and the pen begins to dance across the page. She felt herself slowly come back to life. The journal sighing in bliss. The pen filling with warmth. The words kept flowing. Doors dinged open, people laughed and held conversations, but that was merely noise in the background. But just as quickly as the surge of inspiration came it left her body. Her pen once again laid next to her right hand. She took a sip of her tea, most of it gone. She didn’t fully felt satisfied for what she accomplished. She sighed debating on a refill. “Writers block?” She looked up to meet the man with warm brown eyes. “Um yeah,” she cleared her throat, cursing herself for how shaky it came out. He smiled, “the only writer’s block I’ve had to deal with is when I write papers for classes.” She giggled, “more or less the same but I should be enjoying this kind of writing instead.” He nodded in understanding. He took a sip of his coffee and she couldn’t help but sneak a glance. His skin was the color of cinnamon. His brown eyes were framed by long lashes which she became instantly jealous of. His body was lanky with definition under his gray long sleeve polo. He had full lips with a mole on the side of his left cheek. His hair was cut short on the sides but he ran his fingers through the mop of straight hair on top. He was cute in the way where at first glance you wouldn’t have seen it. But if you pay closer attention you saw the beauty. He turned his face and the sun cut shadows against his cheeks. Once again she was overcome by jealousy. He was a man and yet she felt inferior to him. She tugged down on her oversized sweatshirt.
She glanced around the coffee shop. Two young girls were seated across from them. One was a redhead with freckles and jade green eyes. She was petite and cute. Her friend seated across had a bleach blonde bob with brown eyes. She had braces. Her gazed went to the window. People walking down the street. Some with bags in their hands. She heard a chuckle and was immediately snap out of her trance. The sound came from the man across from her. “Yes?” She spoke, slightly annoyed. He raised his hands in defense. “No nothing I was just noticing.” She made a face. He smiled, “You just seem to get lost in watching people, the details.” She felt her cheeks burn. She stared down at her pages. “May I read?” She looked up quickly. He chuckled, “let me guess that’s a bad question to ask a writer?” She shook her head, “yeah right up there next to cheesy pick-up lines that end in you’re the only ten I see.” That made him smile. She noticed the corner of his left tooth was slightly chipped. ‘Maybe he isn’t perfect.’ She thought. “I’m going to get a refill and that does not mean you get the opportunity to read it.” She smirked and walked away. 90% of her prayed he listen but then 10% of her wanted him to read what she wrote. She grabbed her tea. He was sitting where she left him. She felt a tinge of sadness until she noticed a corner of the paged had been flipped backwards. She smiled to herself. She sat down placing her tea by her left hand. She looked at the last line in her journal so far. ‘Too afraid to turn back she wondered if she would ever see the stranger again.’ She quickly a glanced up. He was on his phone smiling. Maybe at another girl. A small part of her hated that she always assumed the worst. She had a nasty habit of being negative towards everyone, the world, and even herself. But then again why would it even matter? This isn’t a romance book nor is her story that she’s writing. Although that’s supposed to be a cheesy love story. She took a sip of her tea. “Shit,” she gasped burning her tongue. “You okay?” Mr. Sexy Brown eyes look concerned. She gave a sheepish smile, “I should have waited longer before taking a drink.” He offered a lopsided grin. She cursed at herself. ‘Way to go there.’ She scratched at the back of her head, frustrated once again.
She stared at the last line, chewing her bottom lip. When did it become like this? When did this become so hard? She used to love writing. She used to love watching her characters grow and develop but lately she was out of ideas. She was out of will to do anything. She stuck in the low part of life and didn’t know how to climb out of it. For the billionth time she took a deep breath and picked up the pen. She places the pen on the page and…nothing happens. Her mind is blank. “Have her look back.” She meets the gaze of Mr. Sexy Brown Eyes. “Have her look back?” He nods, sure of himself. “Isn’t that how most love stories go?” She chews her bottom lip. “I suppose but that’s so predictable.” He smiles, “but that’s what girls wants. They say they want the unpredictable and then complain when they don’t get the predicable. People are afraid of being unpredictable and predictable and I said those words to many times.” She giggles, “It’s true that we all do want what’s both familiar and unfamiliar but it’s hard to find that balance.” He sips his coffee. “And that is what makes love hard and worth it.” She smiled a surge of hope going through her. Without a word she began writing. She knew how she wanted this story to go. What she didn’t know was how her story was going to go after his coffee was done. But that’s the beauty of life. It is unpredictable and predictable.