I found a glass box
Pink macarons lined up neatly on a velvety layer of chocolate cake like judging eyes through rose-tinted glasses, awkward as it might sound, staring at our general direction. Or perhaps at the maraschino cherry sitting on top of my slice of apple and spices flavoured cake. It was not that I care much. Neither did he.
I flipped through my book as my hand reached for a warm cup of flat white. I had all my senses dedicated to the words on the book, until he took a sip out of what I'd assume to be his second helping of milk tea.
“Your umbrella does come in handy...”
It may rain. So said he.
I merely caught a sight of his fluttering long sideburns as I rest my cup for the fourth time that afternoon. Or was it fifth?
People were leaving soon after the sky turned dark orange. I too thought of leaving, but I have yet to finish my cake and coffee. Somewhere along my read and a glance at the pink macarons, I could almost hear his hinting that it's fine if I stay a little longer. He'd like that, I understood.
From outside the glass box, you could see a couple of awkward companion, or rather a young lady and her lingering attention on the empty seat in front of her, a scene dressed in all shades of rain and clouds, taking a little breather from the traffic of life. Her cold hands, his warm tea. Her still glance, his surreality. The pink macarons looked merry while she lonely, just as the weather looked sunny.
There are instances in which she took the wrong subject too seriously or the wrong situation too lightly. Somewhere between the bursts of hustle and bustle, he would speak to her, in a manner a little too nonchalant, about dreams and ideals and gratifications.
She found herself agreeing to the statement about umbrellas a little deeper into the night that day.