new rules // d. lipa

// makin' myself crazy

Ironically, it was a nice and warm day.

There weren't any birds chirping as the night was already falling, but you could see families and couples returning from the beach, sunglasses still on the faces and skin sunkissed. People were happy, chattering and enjoying themselves, sipping their cold drinks and basking in the warm summer night to come.

You, on the other hand, had a little black cloud hanging over your head.

The café is bustling in life, but you barely notice it. The line is full but moves quite quickly, and the little italian old lady smiles brightly at you.

"Hey, Nana."

Anastasia Amparo is the owner of the little place called Faustino's, wife of the same, although she already was a widow by the time you've met her - when you were about six. The old lady had cared for you almost all of your childhood; with busy, hardworking parents and no family nearby, she was the one to take care of you: you've lost count of how many times the walls had to be repainted because you've scribbled circles and sketches there (the one drawing of the café in the kitchen wall is still there, though).

"Go sit by the kitchen, dear, and help yourself to whatever you want."

Managing a small, weak smile, you do just that.

Faustino's has only four employees, counting Nana, and the kitchen is a comfortable mess. There's bags of flour everywhere, sugar in various pots and the smell of fresh bread hanging thickly in the air. There's a small, rounded desk against a wall (the one with the scratchy drawing), with a bottle of coffee and a set of mugs and a half eaten sandwich on it. Your bag thuds against the hardwood floor, and you help yourself to a mug of steaming coffee despite the heat.

And your mind wanders. Or not, because you can't really be sure of all the shit currently blurring your mind, and soon your eyesight.

You don't even notice the footsteps until they're near next to you. Wiping the few tears that had escaped, you sniffle. The girl drops the mugs and glasses inside the kitchen, clumsily, and voice half a swear. You laugh a bit, and she turns crimson.

"H-hi!" Her voice is a high squeak, and the giggles continue out. She clears her throat, putting a hand on the balcony for support and trying to act casual. "How are you - how are you here? How've you been?"

You nod, doing a last sniffling. "I'm... quite good, Dua. And you?"

She giggles, and light touches the tip of her cheeks. "I'm good, too. It's quite a busy day, and I like them like that."

"Me too! It's... It's quite easier to pass the day when it's full of activities."

Dua stops smiling and stares at you. You already know where the conversation is going; it's been about three years since she appeared for the job that opened up at the café after you had to left the city because of college, and the girl somehow knew exactly your emotions. This one, unfortunately, she's seen more than once already.

Dua takes ahold of a chair and sets it down right in front of you.

"You know that's not at all how a real relationship is supposed to go, right?"

Chuckling humorlessly, you shrug. Your eyes are tearing up again, and you swallow it down along with the rest of the coffee. She places her hands on your knees, serious as she's ever.

"I'm speaking seriously. You're such an amazing girl, you don't - you deserve a lot more than this." A beat passes, and she takes a sharp intake of air. "Why do even still insist on this?"

You shake your head, smiling weakly.

"He makes me feel like nobody else."

______

Y'all think I'm ashamed?

Lol

you right