His Favorite Bean
Who: A Hopeless Romantic
Where: The Flightless Butterfly Bistro
When: Just before Twilight
What I’m Drinking: Hot Chocolate with a Peppermint Straw
When I came in the bistro smelled off but in a sweet way. Like there was a new dessert that you haven’t tried yet.
Before I could even sit down I could tell the boy was hopelessly in love with the classmate he was working with. He wore very thick glasses that did not fit his face whatsoever but complimented his backpack and black-button up shirt well. He spent the better half of the night before planning that out to the detail. He looked to be typing something out on his computer, something laborious like an essay, but every few minutes he looked up and would just stare at his project partner like they were deep in a one way conversation and he was just engrossed in what was being said. But they weren’t.
The project partner had petite feminine features with long black hair pulled up into a very loose messy bun. Hair kept falling into their eyes. In fact that was it, each time the hair fell their tablemate would look up and fall more deeply in love, wanting to fix it for them and spark some sort of conversation not to do with whatever branch of English class they had fallen into. But he never said anything. So they go on working.
This pattern continues of hair falling and looking up just to look right back down, over and over again until only half of their hair is still left in the bun. After too long of stolen, unmet looks, the tablemate lifts their head just in time to catch his eyes. And there they stare. Like two protruding rock formations in the middle of a desert wasteland, they just stare.
Not five seconds had passed that the raven hair worker looks blush red and returns to their work but the man remains fixated. Opening his mouth to speak, he is ready to confess his truth for the assignment partner when they intrude on the moment and speak first; “So you’ve gotten to the sex scene in the book too?” They say. Almost completely cowering behind his thick rimmed glasses the man is so shocked that his brain looks over exerted on itself and each thought comes out pieced together; “Do love, no I, it, you look, wait.”
His partner burst out laughing in the middle of the silent café. “There’s no way these are the chapters we’re supposed to be writing about.” They cry like the man didn’t just word vomit his love.
He laughed with the tablemate, grateful for the oblivion and they turned back to work. The pattern resumes, hair falls, he looks up longingly, he looks back down to his work. Then after some substantial time writing, the man grabs a napkin from the table and digs into his backpack tucking something within his jacket pocket, later excusing himself to the bathroom.
He disappeared for a while and his tablemate kept working diligently. By the time he was back the bistro had lost its sweet desert ambiance and now I only anticipated what the shielded object and long break yielded for the project partners. Sitting down he quickly slid a napkin over to the table mate and noticing it right away they took it and read the words scribbled down. The partner looked to cross something out and slid the crumpled paper back over. Not wanting to look desperate the man takes a beat then reads over what is said. He smiles brightly.
They were really beautiful just to watch for just a glance but truly amazing to understand. They worked for a little longer then packed their bags and walked out the front door, leaving the napkin behind. Packing up my things I went to take a closer look to read what the slip said, slightly surprised at the writing; ‘Do you think that girl is staring at us?’ Yes or No
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