WolfSol
Brain cashew smooth
The Girl by the Window - 759 Words
She could always be found sitting on the sill of a large window tucked away in the corner of her study. It overlooked a canal that bustled with ornate gondolas and beautiful parasols. Her hair would often be in a bun, a hand lazily running through it as she fingered a thick novel or tapped away at a keyboard. Even now as she bit into her usual pastry, a strawberry filled croissant, she was tapping away at her laptop. The soft click-clack of keys could be heard from the register above the gentle murmur of customers. I preferred it over the obnoxious hum of indie pop music.
Today she wore a soft, gray sweater that continuously slipped off one shoulder. For once her hair was down, honeyed locks spiraled around her slim neck in tendrils, but a hand still, on occasion, sifted through her hair. She'd started coming regularly since last spring. It was routine. She was a regular and everyone at the register had her order known by heart, strawberry filled croissant accompanied with a honeyed black tea fog. Even though a year has passed since she'd become a regular, I've never had the guts to talk to her. I only knew that she was a student because I'd caught a glimpse of her student ID card, I'd found out she was a writer because I'd caught her typing away on a word document, I'd only recently discovered that she loved classics and mysteries after finally keeping tabs on the books she'd brought in, and I know that the only sweets she likes is strawberry flavored.
I took a marker to the side of her ordered cup of, you guessed it, black tea fog as I often did. It was my only method of talking to her outside of work. My handwriting was incredibly awful, borderline chicken scratch, but I always started slow and careful. The quotes were always random, only inspired by the sight of her. Today she'd seemed more melancholy, the smile she'd had when she'd ordered was flat, almost nonexistent. Her response to how her day was clearly a lie, 'I'm doing well' didn't reflect in her eyes as it did in her voice.
Difficult roads often lead to beautiful destinations.
I capped off the marker and slid the cup to the other side of the counter. I called her name then, a name that sounded much like bells, whispers, and rustling of autumn leaves. She'd looked up then from her keyboard, and I watched as a somber smile caressed her lips. It only made me want to see her face as she read the quote even more. Maybe she did too because when she stood, she had a bounce in her step. She'd crossed the expanse of the small cafe and plucked the cup eagerly. Immediately, she turned it around in her hand until her brilliant, sky eyes met the quote.
Her smile was bright, ample wattage that could have put the sun's light to shame, as she looked up at me. "Thank you." Her voice was quiet, breathtaking, and I smiled in return.
She did this every now and then, sporadically. She'd say thank you or simply smile and then return to her corner of the world, but today was different, "How do you always know what to write?"
"Because I have a masterpiece that inspires me." I should just hide underneath the counter and never emerge.
"A masterpiece?"
"You, of course." I should overdose on espresso.
I'd expected her to run off or throw the tea at me. Thankfully, she did neither as she stood there with a smile that remained. Then, oh so slowly, she turned around and returned to her window.
It left me in a state of shock throughout the rest of my shift, but nothing was compared to the moment when she came up to the counter again. At first, I'd suspected she'd wanted to order another tea, or maybe lecture me for the way I'd acted or what I'd said. Again, it was neither. She'd put the cup back on the counter and slid it across to my side. I stare at her for a long moment, almost got lost in the blues of her eyes, until I finally looked down at the cup. The part that faced me had a quote that I hadn't written. It was much longer than mine ever were, and the words flowed into each other.
If I am your masterpiece, then you are my next destination.