March 5, 2018
The seventeen year old walked down the cement sidewalk in Chicago at an easy pace, even though the morning air was chilly.
The hole-in-the-wall coffee shop that she was approaching was right down the street from the hotel she had stayed in the night before; she always told her father she didn't start the day correctly unless she had coffee and a book.
She pulled the door of the shop open, stepping behind it immediately so a woman could pass through. They exchanged smiles before exchanging places, the younger of the two slipping inside the warm environment.
There was just something about the shops that no one had ever heard of that drew her in.
She was a traveler, along with her father. They went all over the country, a new place nearly every week. Sometimes they ended up in the same city, but she made a deliberate effort to experience something new each time. Each coffee shop and cafe were much like her books, she liked to think, all different and unique, but still enjoyable in their own way.
As she moved to stand in the line to order, she tucked a strand of hair that had escaped her beanie behind her ear, simultaneously getting a better handle on the book she held by her side in her right hand.
The next person who entered the building made his way over to the line, nothing standing out about the girl in front of him, save the copy of The Fault in Our Stars in her hand.
He didn't know what compelled him to say something to her, but he opened his mouth and spoke anyway.
"Basic, huh?"
The girl with shoulder-length brown hair turned, taking in the tall boy.
"I'm sorry?" she said.
"I said...."
Only then did he realize the underlying implications of his statement. He wished he hadn't said anything. She stared at him expectantly.
"I—uh—said... basic."
He was averting his eyes while she looked at him with amusement.
"And please explain why you would say that?" she said cooly.
She truly wasn't offended or upset, but thought his reaction to the whole situation was quite humorous, given that he brought it upon himself.
She didn't know why he was embarrassed anyway. Well, except for the fact that he had called her book and possibly even her appearance basic, as in, just like a cliché or normal thing that everyone took part in.
"Um—well, you're standing in a coffee shop waiting to get—uh—coffee and you're holding that book which is... Look, I'm really sorry. I... shouldn't have said anything."
For a second or two, she allowed him to stand uncomfortably under her gaze.
"What's your name?" she said.
"Uh—Jonah. Marais."
"Alright, Jonah," she started, tone calm, even. "Who gave you the right to dictate what is 'basic' and what isn't? Also, what does that even mean? How do I know if your definition lines up to mine? If you said 'basic' because I'm wearing a beanie and holding a teen romance novel—which, by the way, is not what it's actually about—and standing in a coffee shop then that's a crap assumption. I don't think you were trying to judge so I'm not going to hold that against you or whatever, but I would suggest learning not to say stuff like that before you meet someone who's a little less nice about it."
He was speechless. She turned around again.
It took him about a minute to get his bearings, thinking through how rude he came across as and then how he could apologize.
The girl stepped up to the counter to order.
After the barista told her the amount and she was pulling her wallet out of her back pocket, he made a quick decision.
Acting quickly, he stepped forward and held some money out to the cashier that would pay for her drink.
The girl to his left realized what he was doing and gave him an incredulous look.
"What—"
"I'm paying for us both," he told the cashier, shooting her a closed-mouth smile.
"No, I—" the young girl tried to protest, but he insisted and the woman on the other side of the counter eventually took his order and money for both.
"You didn't have to do that," the girl—who still had no name to Jonah—said as they moved out of the way to wait.
"Consider it an apology. For introducing myself like I did."
She glanced at him with the smallest of smiles before giving him an even smaller nod.
"Thank you, then."
"What's your name?" he asked, shoving his hands in his jacket pockets.
"Eliska," she replied after a moment.
Her name made him smile. It matched her wit, personality, appearance.
Neither could think of anything else to say without overstepping their boundaries—they were strangers after all—so they stood next to each other silently until her drink was ready.
She retrieved it, turning back to the tall boy.
"Thanks again," she said, tone more indifferent than anything, though she looked at him with a sort of curiosity.
He only then caught sight of her eyes. Grey, almost stormy.
"And I'm sorry. Again," he said.
He watched her move the thin cardboard sleeve on her cup around. After a nod of acceptance at his apology, she took a few steps toward the exit.
"Weird meeting you," she said as she moved past him.
"Likewise," he responded.
And then she was gone.
