I pushed open the glass door of the little coffee shop and a bell tinkered. The familiar smell of freshly brewed coffee wafted through the room and seized my brain with its aroma. It automatically forced open my tired eyes though my brain still felt dull and utterly exhausted from the night shift. It had been a hectic night with two of my patients coding just before the end of the shift.

Coffee had turned from a luxury to a basic necessity now. Back in the college days, it was coffee once a day but now I am literally a caffeine addict.

I took off the head cap and stuffed it in the pocket of my scrubs, running a hand through my tousled hair. The strands were tangled and after a minute, I gave up trying to look presentable.

Who would see me at this hour?

"One cup of coffee, less sugar," a voice at the counter in front of me made me look up.

A man ahead of me had headphones on and was lightly tapping his fingers on the counter, probably to the beat of his music. The barista flashed a genial smile as she motioned for him to occupy a table. The man gave a lazy grin at the barista and turned around.

For a brief second our eyes met and for the briefest of the moments, my heart skipped a beat as a jumble of memories crashed into my already messed up brain. The moment soon passed as I felt a familiar smile creeping on my lips.

He was looking at me too, his eyes noticing me in a warm, friendly gaze, which made me feel happy—the kind of happy when I get to spend a lazy day lying in the afternoon sun.

"You," I breathed

"Finally we meet," his grin seemed like a permanent ornament on his face now. It was one of those everlasting things, like the moon in the sky and the moonlight of that smile was tugging on the tides of my heart.

"But you, here, how?" I spoke too fast.

"Whoa! Slow down, lady. Let's speak over a cup of coffee, shall we?" he gestured to a table. I nodded, still blinking at the suddenness of the situation. And almost instinctively I looked down at my white rubber shoes and green scrubs. My reflection on the counter glass looked hideous.

Yeah, who would see me at this hour?

The barista gave me a sympathetic look and shook her head.

"One cup of coffee..." I began.

"With extra sugar and cream," he piped up from behind me.

"Less sugar, no milk. Make it extra strong," I waved my hands at the barista who looked at him, then at me, back at him again, her eyes widening in confusion. I guess my glare was enough as she scuttled off quickly.

I turned my head and narrowed my eyes at him.

"What? You don't like extra sugar anymore?" he made an innocent face. I could see him struggling to contain a smile at my anger. And I laughed out loud.

How could I ever stay angry at this guy?

"No. I need coffee for the caffeine kick. Luxury was in the college days," I informed, as we chose a seat to the farthest corner of the cafe.

I looked out through the clear glass front of the cafe at the world just getting up from sleep and going about their work. Every person was moving at a determined pace, the gears of the world churning to get humanity in motion for a brand new day.

"So, what brings you to this city?" I dragged my eyes back to him. He seemed to have been watching me intently as I had gotten lost in my thoughts. It happens to me always. It's like the world around becomes just a buzz of defocussed noises and I can hear my inner thoughts being spoken aloud in my own voice.

"Just for a trip. You know the adventurer in me is always on the move, even if I'm stagnant," he took off his headphones and put them aside.

"So are your thoughts. Always on the motion, churning out magic," I said, trying to keep my focus on him. My caffeine-deprived brain was already shutting down and even the euphoria of meeting him couldn't generate enough dopamine to keep me awake.

"You still remember those days, eh?" he laughed.

"Not really easy to forget. Those were some of the best days, of my life at least," I fidgeted with my hands under the table.

The conversation was comfortable but that awkwardness hung between us like an unspoken question. Maybe that's what happens when two introverts meet in real life. We can spin lines after lines over online chat. But the moment online becomes reality, the nervousness becomes a nightmare.

"You look different. What changed?" he filled the silence.

"I wish I could say the same about you but you look the same," my eyes caught on the facial features that I had almost memorised.

I had tried to draw a portrait of him once. It was a miserable piece of art with no real resemblance to him, but yet he had appreciated my efforts nonetheless.

His curious eyes peered at me from behind his black-rimmed glasses.

"If you're referring to the dark circles under my eyes then these are my recent trophies from the constant night shifts and my screwed up sleep schedule," I giggled nervously.

"You work around here?"

"Yes, there's a private hospital down the block. Minimal pay, but something is better than nothing. I still need to get into my postgraduate course," I shrugged.

"Studying then?"

"Trying to. How's your work going?"

"The same old, you know. Newer partners and newer projects but that same work over and over every day," he remarked

"Yes, right. I know," I said, just as the waitress arrived with our coffees and placed them in front of us. The clinking of dainty china and the flurry quickness with which the waitress served the coffee, gave me the little bit of time to plan my next question.

" So... " we said at the same time, once the waitress disappeared.

I motioned for him to continue.

"When I said change, I didn't mean in your physical features. Yes, you changed a lot as far as I remember you from your Instagram feed. We never met in real life so I could only imagine you in three-dimension..."

"Whoa! So was I like a cardboard cutout?"

"Not really but that's an interesting concept. I could use it for some future stories," he mused.

"I hope you're continuing with your writing," I sat up straighter now. I think if I could see my eyes, they'd be shining right then.

"Sometimes... Not consistent. But hey, I am at least putting the efforts, small steps."

"More people need your writing. I loved every bit of them."

"You don't read them anymore," his face wore a mask of neutrality but I could see concern playing in those eyes shaded by the glasses.

"I don't write anymore either."

"I won't ask you why because I know you'd tell me if you want to," he said finally.

I was pleasantly surprised that he remembered that little detail about our conversations. I was the one who used to babble about anything and everything and he used to listen patiently, adding his comments whenever necessary. Our chats were like long paragraphs followed by a sentence and long paragraphs again. But it was fun, so much fun to write it all.

"Those were days. The words came so naturally to me. Then life happened," I picked up my cup and blew on my coffee.

My breath caused the thin layer of bubbles on the coffee to dissipate as the black bitterness appeared. I took a long gulp, my body imbibing the taste. The caffeine spread through my system like wildfire, lighting up the dried edges of my nerves and setting them alight.

"Writing itself seems like a task now. A task to put efforts and somehow I'm tired of putting more efforts into life than is absolutely necessary for survival," I confessed.

He took a sip of his coffee and gave an understanding nod.

"Aha, I get you. I've been through this phase already. Things happen but always remember that there's hope somewhere. Hope is the..."

"Only light that we need sometimes. Yes," I completed his sentence, "I've been living and breathing on hope all this time. Those lines, and a lot many that I learnt from you, time and again, actually kept me going in the difficulties of the past year."

"That's the change," he mumbled.

"Pardon?"

"That's the change I've been talking about. You've matured. It appears in your physical features, but it appears more in your behaviour, your composure, your attitude and your eyes obviously," he remarked.

"You're really observant, aren't you?" I smiled.

"A writer needs to observe the world he weaves his stories in. The world around teaches us everything that we base our fiction on, don't we?" he cast a glance towards the road.

The sunlight was brighter now and the cars were crowding. The bell at the counter was ringing more frequently as more and more people came to grab their coffee before starting the day. Pedestrians ran faster in their attempt to catch up with the world.

"I agree. The world had always been an inspiration for me. But at one moment I got so caught up in life that I started missing out on the little things — a tiny hint of the sunrise, the colour of the skies or even the little smile of strangers. That was the day since when I didn't write anymore. "

"It's weird right, how time flies? It's been like one year since we lost contact," he observed.

"Yes. I couldn't make it in my first attempt at the postgraduate exams. I detached myself from the social media and my social life died an untimely death," I laughed at my own joke, "Maybe I should celebrate the death anniversary of my writing, one of these days."

He didn't smile, however. His calm eyes were studying my face, maybe reading more than my exterior supposed carelessness. Could people look into your souls? But then, with some people you become an open book, you show them your soul, you begin to trust them with your vulnerabilities because you know they'd never play with your emotions.

"You do know that the words are as eternal as times and words cannot die, don't you?"

I kept quiet. Acknowledging the truth of his words would be like accepting my defeat — realising I had given up. I had learnt to smile my way through situations where my heart was breaking to bits. As life had pelted me with disappointments, I had learnt to be in control and not let myself be lost in the darkness of the adversities. Once again admitting defeat would be a setback.

"You don't need to try to put on a brave face always. You have the right to feel things, the right to cry. Growing up is okay, learning control is even better, but losing yourself in the process of adapting to the world is not okay," he said slowly, letting the words sink in. I felt every syllable of those few lines hitting somewhere deep.

"Believe me, I'm not upset."

"No, you've just adjusted a bit to your circumstances."

"And that was hard."

"And you think that killed a part of who you were."

"Yes," I said finally, "my writing."

"The words and rhythms are still flowing in your veins. You just need to rekindle the flame of passion in you. I can't say more than that. I don't know your circumstances so it'd be unwise of me to judge," he smiled, "But I know whatever it is, you'll grow out of it."

"It's funny," I said, "Every day when we used to talk, I imagined how it'd be like to meet you in real life. To have you near me, opposite to me."

"But now that I'm here, it feels so different, right?"

"Yes."

"Bad different? Like I'm not what you expected me to be?"

"Good different," I grinned, "You're even better in real life, mister magician."

"Beneath those scrubs and unkempt hair,
I see that little fairy still there."

I looked up just in time to see him flash a mischievous smile. I froze for a moment, my brain going into a shutdown mode again but I willed it back into consciousness.

"The little fairy had been lost for a year.
The magician brought her back again here."

The words felt foreign on my tongue. The rhymes were humming in my head, thousands of them in disorderly chaos but there was a familiarity in that confusion.

"The magician can only show the way,
It's upon the fairy to make efforts to stay
The magical realm of words is calling from afar..."

"Will the magician be my guiding star?" I placed my hands on the table and leaned forward, my voice rising a bit louder and the customers on the other tables threw me disapproving glances.

"Sorry," I mumbled, folding my hands into my lap again.

"Did you realise you've been spinning poetry right now?" his eyes gleamed.

"It still feels like I'm trying to open a rusted tap," I whispered.

"It's a whole dam, not a mere tap. How long will rusted gates hold it in? The river will burst through one day and set free those words bottled up in you, again."

"How do you know the exact thing to say at the exact moment? I missed this banter," I grew pensive.

Coffee was done. The moments were stretched as far as we could but the goodbye was looming in the horizon.

"I think I should take your leave now," he got up abruptly, looking at his watch.

The time was over. The moment of magic was gone. The clock had struck twelve, the illusion of gorgeous night was fading and I'd soon be back into my mind's cove, shrouded by the drab rugs of life.

"We were meant to meet and part, weren't we?" I shrugged. If the words were getting caught up in my throat, I didn't show them.

"Keeps that spirit of discovery and curiosity alive in our lives, maybe, we'll meet someday again, unexpectedly like today,  maybe," he strode to the front door with me following.

"That's two 'maybe's in one sentence," I chuckled.

"Life's a whole lot of 'maybe's, Shreya," he winked, opening the door of the cafe with a sweet tinkling sound and then he was gone, melted into the vast crowds of the busy city.

We had stolen a few precious moments from the infinity of time and those little shared moments with him were worth the wealth of the universe.

I smiled to myself.

2500 words completed

Written for the contest by  ChickLit

Author's Note

Dedicated to ManWhoReads
I tried to imagine how a conversation in the future if we meet someday unexpectedly over coffee, would turn out. We still don't know what might happen. I hope we never come to this stage where we lose contact but then life happens so... Let's keep it at maybes and enjoy the story.

P. S Sorry I don't know how you like your coffee 😜... So I had to only imagine.