(Sukoon is an arabic word that means peace)


Sukoon.

I met her on a couch in a coffee shop. She sat there, sipping a single shot of espresso, flipping through the pages of a book I had never read. 
How could I. 
The pages were blank, white as snow, crying to be written upon, to be bathed in an ink that told stories.

She looked up and smiled, her hair flowing like a stream from the farthest reaches of the Himalayas. Her eyes were like those of a fawn, innocent with a sparkle of adventure. Her hands slender and calm. Her lips burning with a sensation of pleasure.

For a while time froze around me. She sat there in a vintage scene, strokes of brown and rusted yellow painting the room. She was perhaps an ancient goddess of time. Perhaps she wasn't. Undulating, untouched. She was the essence of calm timelessness.

Coffee?

Oh yeah. I think I'll get an Americano.

She smiled again.
I had never seen that smile.
Perhaps I had.
It was like the rays of the sun that filtered through the leaves of the trees in a forest that's bursting with life on an early spring morning.

Sukoon.

I felt her touch in the first sip of coffee I took. 
Her hand caressing my hand, soothing and calm like a drizzle on my way home, that brings life to the countryside. Her soft skin felt like the trickling of a small stream in the hills.

Sukoon.

I found her in that warm and cozy coffee shop.

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