Strangers

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I first met her in the coffee shop. I wasn't planning on staying long, just enough to finish the cafe latte I ordered while reading a book, and then leave. Then, out of nowhere, I heard a voice. A warm, sweet voice. She asked me if the seat beside me was taken. I said "no", and went back to my book. To be honest I wasn't in a conversation kind of mood, much more with a stranger.

I thought that it would end there. That after that quick, short question I would never be bothered again. But for some reason, I felt like I was being watched. Call me paranoid, but when I glanced up and see if anyone was looking, there she was, intently looking at me.

She must've been surprised by me. I can see the surprised look on her face. However, unlike most people, she started a small conversation. She asked me what the book was all about. I didn't want to be rude, so I replied. It wasn't anything interesting anyway. It was just some fiction story about a post apocalyptic future where humans are trying to survive. Nothing out of the ordinary. However, as I was explaining the plot of the book, I can see how intently she was listening. Maybe that's the reason why I decided to continue the small talk after that.

I asked her where she was from, as I haven't seem to have seen her before. I frequent the coffee shop regularly, and I have an idea who are the common customers of the cafe. The old man who always seemed like he's in a rush, the teenagers cramming an assignment, even the young lady and her kid ordering cakes and chocolates every Sunday afternoon. She was different. I don't recall seeing her before.

She said that she's not actually from the neighborhood. She said she just so happened to be visiting, and she was supposed to meet someone over for the weekend. Unfortunately, whoever she was supposed to meet had an emergency and had to bail out at the last minute, so she decided to walk around the neighborhood. After a while she got tired, so she decided to go inside the coffee shop and get some refreshments, and that's how she met me.

I never got back to the book I was reading after that. It's like we didn't run out of things to talk about. Our lives, our work, our friends, even the people who came in and out of the coffee shop. There was always something that connects our previous conversation with the next one - a trivia, a joke, an anecdote.

After a while we were making up stories of the people who came in and out of the shop. How the young guy had to buy a cake for his beloved because she caught her cheating, how the group of friends that were busy at the corner were actually having a group conversation online, which explains the unanimous giggles and laughs they do, how the barista is angry at the customer at the cashier and tried to add a little bit of spit on his drink. It was much more interesting than the book I was trying to finish a while back.

We had a lot of laughs. Yet, despite of all the laughs, despite of the smile on her face, I could feel that something was missing - or that she was hiding something. Whenever I looked into her eyes, I didn't see joy or happiness. For some reason, her eyes were filled with sadness. I can't explain it, but that's how I felt about it. And I didn't want to ask her if something was bothering her in fear that she might think that I was crazy or lunatic for trying to probe deeper.

I tried to shrug off the feeling nonetheless. I felt that it was impolite to dig too deep into her past, or whatever it is that she was hiding. We were strangers, after all. Besides, I may just be imagining things. Or whatever I was seeing in her eyes was nothing more but a reflection of what was in mine.

Our conversation was interrupted by my phone ringing. It was my sister, asking me what time I will be picking her up from school. I told her that I was just a few blocks away, and that I'll be there in less than an hour. Inasmuch as I enjoyed our tete-a-tete I was drawn back to my real world.

I told her that I have to go, but before leaving I asked her if she wanted to keep in touch. She said "sure," and wrote her number on a piece of tissue paper. I put the tissue paper as a bookmark to the book I was reading a while back, and placed it in my bag. Before leaving, I told her that it was nice talking to her and I hoped to talk to her again sometime soon. She smiled and said that she enjoyed the afternoon as well. Before heading out the door, I looked back at her direction, and she was still there, with a faint smile on her face.