"Coffee? Sure, I'm free tomorrow. But why?"

"Nothing much, I just wanted to have a chat with you."

The earlier night, Lucas's mother had personally asked me to meet her in a nearby cafe at a specified time. It was the most famous designation for people who were interested in exchanging casual conversations. Usually, these would be friends catching up in the area, single folks hoping to find their soulmates, and students wanting to relax after school.

From time to time, I would often find myself here too. But I'm certain today's experience would far outshine its predecessors, especially considering who my companion would be.

The prices Sunflower Cafe offered varied from inexpensive to first-rate, depending on the type of order made. In short, it's essentially advertising itself to every person out there. A kind of marketing strategy that seems outright foolish. Has history not taught us over and over again that appealing to numerous options would only spell doom? But considering the owner has success to show for it, it's not like anyone can refute it now.

I looked at my watch. 8:58 AM. Only two more minutes to go.

Since Mrs. Natalia offered to pay for the iced coffee herself, it was difficult to decline. Therefore, I didn't. She didn't particularly elaborate anything regarding the matter that we would be discussing today. Maybe it was regarding my performance? Or was it something outside that? Impossible, there would be no reason for me to think so.

"Good morning, Eliza!" she cheerfully greets with a smile while waving. "Thank you for waiting."

"No, I actually just got here." My good rule of thumb is to be ten minutes earlier than expected. Given that nature thrived around the business area, the scenery was spectacular, and thus, left me in a very good mood while expecting their arrival. After all, they were good background images for my daydreams.

"I'd like to take the outside seats, would that be alright with you?" Mrs. Natalia asked.

"Ah, yes. It's perfectly alright with me." I wasn't exactly paying, even though I still bought money with me, so there's really no need to be demanding. Besides, the option wasn't really bad.

As thanks for her paying for the food and drinks, I proposed the idea of ordering them. Although performing such a thing wasn't on my good side, it can't be one-sided now, can it? You still have to make sure you have a face to show for it.

She gladly accepted and handed me a list of her order along with cash. Upon receiving it, she also told me that I could order whatever my heart desired. I simply replied that I'll have what she'll be having. Looking back on it now, that may have been a foolish move on my part. All the indicated items were way beyond my budget and definitely, without a shred of doubt, belong to the first-rate prices. Even the least expensive food is still outside of the margin of the allowance in my pockets.

In case this situation would take a u-turn, I'd be left vulnerable.

Nevertheless, I found it a bit embarrassing to refuse after everything's gone this far. Maybe things won't be as bad as my anxiety makes me believe. I surely hope so.

The total amount the screen showed me made every hair in my body stand. It was worth more than my rent in total! No, these figures would actually be able to feed me for six months. Imagine being able to flex that your casual visit at the cafe, which would probably only last a few minutes, is greater than someone's monthly rent.

Can't relate.

All my life, I've constantly been backed to an edge so much so that if the current circumstances indicate otherwise, my mind would immediately brace for a tragedy. It's always been that way. When the day seems so perfect, it suddenly rains. And what would you know, your umbrella goes missing. That brings me back.

But it is with great sorrow and grief that I must accept, Xander can't rise from the dead. As his fans, it is our duty to remember him in our hearts. In that way, he would be able to live longer than what was decreed for him.

When it was finally my turn, it became evident to the barista that mentioning Mrs. Natalia's orders was a first. I'm certain that the people in the back were doing their best to stifle laughs upon the sight of a girl who can't even properly pronounce Cappuccino. Suffering defeat early on, I realized handing the list to the barista before things got out of hand would make all of our lives easier. Albeit this required me to swallow my pride.

Hey, even I have pride.

Eventually, the ordeal finished. My mission came to an end without spawning an angry mob over a coffee with milk foam.

But it appears that the incident has weighed on me, though it seems to be a widely insignificant matter to many. Mrs. Natalia pointed out my flushed cheeks. She giggled, and I was once again forced to admit the embarrassing scenario of me being unable to properly say Cappuccino. Though she was very empathetic, she did not dwell much on it.

Right after she takes her first sip of iced coffee, she announced that our meeting today had nothing to do with my job performance. Confusion immediately traced my face, and even without a mirror, I could clearly tell. If that wasn't the case, then what was the purpose of this meeting? For what did we take the trouble of scheduling an appointment? I did not establish any other relationship with Mrs. Natalia except a business one.

After her declaration, silence followed, and neither of us dared to speak. I waited for her explanation, in hopes that it was just a casual joke or something along those lines. After all, wasting my time was an effective way of getting on my nerves— no matter who you are in this world.

She then began to ask me if I knew why I was hired.

That has always struck me as odd. Why would a highly rich household hire an eighteen-year-old kid who reeks of flaws everywhere? Lucas's room alone is ten times bigger than my studio apartment. It would not be a far-fetch to conclude that his father was a multi-millionaire. If I may even disclose, they have a whole basement for the sole purpose of serving as a library.

By just spending a few coins at their disposal, they could literally hire someone better. So why won't they vouch for the more viable option? What was so special about me that they were willing to take the risks that far outweigh the benefits?

Nothing. There was nothing special about me.

Surely, there must be a motive. There cannot be otherwi—

"I'm actually your biggest fan!"

As cliche as it may sound, the coffee — whose fated destination was supposed to be in my stomach — spew out of my mouth. The sudden and involuntary action choked my throat, forcing a handful of coughs to escape me. Mrs. Natalia quickly handed me water and asked if I was alright. Giving a nod, I quickly regained my composure and looked her in the eye.

"What do you mean by that?" I ask.

"The first book that I ever read from you was A Thousand Years of Mayhem. I finished the whole thing in one night! Even though it had a total of 372 pages, I just had to keep going. Every chapter ending left me craving for more," she expresses with great joy and excitement. "Lots of books are out there, yet nothing could ever compare to the way you weave your words! To be honest, I was very surprised that you were able to accomplish such a feat at the tender age of sixteen years old."

Still dazed, I could not find the appropriate words to humor her with a response. A strange wave of happiness surged within me. One that left me speechless.

But like a true reader, she kept going. "Calalia was very annoying though! I wish I could skin and boil her alive!"

"Then there's also..."

For the next few hours, she recounted all of her favorite scenes in detail. She was so ecstatic to the point that I sometimes couldn't even keep up, which was quite an irony since I was the one who wrote those.

It was truly befitting when a fan met their favorite author. Such a scenario was familiar to me because I often found myself in her shoes. Had I been filled with more courage, I certainly would be able to befriend a lot of my brethren. But that was simply not the case.

From the very start, Mrs. Natalia knew of my circumstances. She knew of the financial adversity I was facing but didn't want to reveal her admiration for fear that I would mistake it for pity. Gotta give her credit for that, she wasn't mistaken. That explains why for the first few weeks, she merely observed. Strangely, it didn't make sense to me. It sounded something straight out of a plot of a manga, anime, movie, or even.... a Wattpad story.

Yet, it was not my place to ridicule a fan's kindness. After all, without her, I would probably be forced to give up the aesthetic view of the night sky in my apartment.

Still, even after all this, the constant showering of praise in every passing second felt awkward to me. Perhaps it was just my insecurities stirring the wheel. But somehow, somewhere deep down, there were screams inside me that I was not worthy of such appreciation and flattery, which led me to deny everything.

"That's not true," I turn my gaze away, "I'm not that great of an author."

She thinks for a while before replying, "Eliza, if your million other Wattpad followers were to hear of this, they'd certainly beg to disagree!"

A bitter smile appears on my lips. "Thank you."

Maybe it was just the intense euphoria and gratitude that overwhelmed me, but it was there and then that I began telling her everything regarding my writing journey. From the moment I picked up the pen to the day I finished the first draft of A Thousand Years of Mayhem. Something that was previously unimaginable to me — an event that left even me completely mystified.

On that day, I laughed and smiled more than I did in the past years. And it felt like all the sorrow in my heart was being washed away.

Q: This seems like a very rough chapter. Which part/s do you think needs to be expanded more? Which part/s felt rushed?

Author's Notes commented inline here ➵