The Coffee Date (4): Intercalary

“Guess where I am,” Arn sent a picture of the city skyline from his window. He was finally back in the city faster than he was expected.

“Here?” Flo didn’t hesitate her guessing, looking at the dusty fog over all the view. “No doubts,” she sent another bubble after taking a second look.

“I have somewhere to go this evening,” he didn’t know why he told her so.

“I’m around if you wanna grab something,” she took a quick look at the clock and her surroundings. “I’ll get things done in an hour,”

“Sure, got any place in mind?”

“Will the last place be okay for you?”

“No problem, see you soon!” Arn locked his phone after getting the reply.

.

“What brings you here?” Flo asked the person sitting right in front of her. She stirred her iced coffee carefully. They were lucky that it was a bit cloudy that day so that the window seat wouldn’t heat them.

“You?” Arn laughed. “You picked the place,” he wished he shouldn’t have to brush it off. He then told her he was going to a gallery opening where he was invited.

“I didn’t know you are into paintings?” Flo asked.

“My friend’s got some work there, and I’m invited,” Flo gave him a curious stare. “Okay, it’s a she, and she is my friend,”

“You don’t have to make that emphasizing look anyway,” Flo laughed.

“What about you? What brings you here?”

“Obviously not you,” she smiled and picked a book out of her bag. “I joined some kind of event for scrapbook making. Here, take a look,”

Arn took the book from her and turned some pages. “This looks pretty fun,”

“Indeed,” she excitedly grabbed her bag and pulled out some stuff. It’s a small box and a pouch of stationery. “Here, try some,”

They spend some time talking and fulfilling the scrapbook. Arn was surprisingly so excited about the scrapbook. Their coffee started to lose all the ice cubes, leaving droplets at the corner of their table.

Flo looked at him glued a dried flower so carefully on her book. “It will stay there forever,” she said.

“Definitely. Unless you throw this away,”

“Sure, realistic. But why would I?” she laughed.

“Perhaps, we’ll never know,” he stared at her.

She stared back at him, “I don’t think I would,”

---

Do you know why do I envy painters? They never run of words.

They can throw any colors and still have the canvas done as an abstract painting.

I have every words in my head whenever I look at you, but I can’t even get anything written.

I read the signs, your eyes, every gesture, and every drop rolling down the glass.

Please say you read them, too,

because the fear of you not feeling anything about them is drowning me deeper.

But as cloudy as the day was, I know what’s left for sure:

It’s me finding myself to wait for the rain to stop before it even starts pouring