mismatched

I came an hour early. I wanted some time to breathe and relax before I finally met you.

When I entered the coffee shop, I went straight to my favorite corner table. The waitress recognized me, came up with a familiar smile and asked if I wanted my usual cup of coffee. I smiled back and told her, “No, Claire, I am meeting a new friend today and I'm nervous as hell. I'd like to have some chamomile tea to calm me please.”

I really like Claire. For someone who works at unfriendly hours, waiting for everyone to finish their cups of coffee, she glows with warmth and a certain understanding for the people who come and go. I for one have experienced that in coffee shops. You sit in your very own corner table and observe the varying expressions and hushed conversations going on between the people in nearby tables. You become absorbed by the tranquility that the strong aroma of brewed coffee brings to your senses. You become contemplative.

I could have sworn I felt your presence the minute you walked in. My view of the front door was obscured from where I was. The tea that I took to calm my nerves didn't exactly serve its purpose. I sat in anticipation.

Last night you asked me, “How would I know if it was you?” I told you it would be easy. Just look for a solitary woman with long black hair. I wouldn't be hard to find. I did not bother to ask how I'd recognize you. I felt that it wouldn't be necessary.

You came up to me and asked if I was waiting for someone. And I said, “Yes, I'm waiting for you.”

I could have been wrong but somehow, I knew my intuition was right and then I saw you smile.

“We finally meet,” was all you said.

Claire came up to our table and refilled my tea cup, you asked for a cup of coffee.

I looked at you and saw you staring at me. I realized the picture of you that I had delicately painted in my head looks somehow just like you. Just as I have imagined, you have expressive yet blank eyes. One may see how luminous your eyes are but would never be able to read what's within.

It was an awkwardly comfortable silence. We both felt no need for small talk until the silence became deafening. The sound of your spoon as you stirred your coffee sounded like church bells. It left a sting in my ears. You, on the other hand, looked perfectly comfortable with the silence. Sipping your coffee with your eyes looking straight into mine.

I don't know for how long we stayed that way. As I gingerly sipped my tea, you stared at me over the rim of your coffee cup. The silence was deafening yet words need not be spoken. We both found solace in blankly staring.

My tea tasted bitter and cold. I saw you held your cup too tightly, as if desperately needing the warmth that would soon be gone. In that instant, I saw the golden ring. Left hand. Middle finger. You looked into my eyes and immediately saw what I have seen. You bowed your head as if to say you are sorry and then you saw it too. My giddy fingers absentmindedly twirling the golden ring wrapped around my finger. Left hand. Middle finger. I have one too.

For what seemed like an eternity, without words spoken, we blankly stared at each other.

A warm salty liquid escaped my eyes as I saw the desperate hopelessness in yours. For a brief instant you held my hand as if to say everything will be alright, and then you stood up. With a heavy heart and stooped shoulders, you said it was time to go. I nodded in agreement.

Left alone at our table, I couldn't help but think... we were like my tea cup and your coffee cup. Mismatched.