My Sunshine ✔

[ 1 ]

A man flicked through pages and pages of an art book, hoping to find inspiration for his mind.

"Excuse me," A person said. He looked up with curiosity. "Um, could you please pass the book right in front of you?" The man politely asked, and he passed it to the shy man. He hadn't even thought about how rude it was to be blocking a shelf of books and standing without a care, right in the middle.

"Sorry for the inconvenience," The first man apologized with a small smile while the other ruffled his black hair. "The Mechanical Art... sounds like a good book." He commented, flipping through pages casually.

"Excuse me?" He asked and grabbed his book tightly.

"Don't mind me. I'm just saying," The man said and waved his hands. "I'm Narco, by the way," He introduced himself and offered a handshake.

"Lewis," The other introduced himself and shook Narco's hand. His grip was strong and firm. Looking at the casual outfit Narco wore with style, Lewis thought that he was probably not a business person. Silence hung in the air and flipping of pages filled it.

Lewis rocked on the heels of his foot and chewed his lips in anxiousness, darting his brown eyes at various shelves.

"I should get going," Lewis said and retracted with his book in hand.

Lewis was never good with social interactions. Being a writer meant less interaction and more of focusing on writing — or crying with frustration. He only had to talk with his publishers and friends while sitting cozily on his bed, typing away.

Narco, on the other hand, was an introvert but having to make deals with managers of art galleries and clients made him a bit adaptable to the atmosphere, although he did like to stay in his little apartment and find inspiration.

"Would you want some coffee?" Narco asked, and the man halted instantly.

"Uh, yeah! Sure!" Lewis winced at the excitement in his voice and breathed deeply when Narco joined his side with a thin, flimsy book in his hand. They both paid for their books and headed out from the store and into the heat of the sun.

They both were silent. Lewis prayed that maybe Narco would speak or even make a small sound.

'Dian's Cafe' was the place they decided to spend their time in. They took the table at the corner and sat down, Lewis' jacket draped over the metallic back.

"So, what do you do?" Narco asked and glanced at the small menu. Lewis followed suit after the brown-haired man.

"Writer, and you?" Lewis asked back, just because it was polite and, really, why would people ask such questions if they didn't want to be asked back. It was better than talking about the weather, he supposed.

"Artist, I guess," Narco said with uncertainty. Lewis looked at him with a question filled glance but stopped prying when the waitress came over.

"Espresso, please," Narco said and looked at Lewis.

"Black coffee," Lewis said, staring at the scratches on the table.

"What's your favorite genre?" Narco asked as he played with the napkins, folding and creasing them before shredding them.

"Thriller and mystery, but I do like every genre," From then, the conversation flowed easily and they knew more about each other's likes and dislikes. Narco liked black because it was easy to pair with every color, elegant and sophisticated. Lewis hated social interactions and this was the only exception — a fact that made Narco's heart a bit warm.

Thinking about it, Lewis was surprised that he had even accepted the invite to a coffee with a stranger. Narco could be a serial killer for all he knew but he's here, having coffee with a stranger.

Narco took a sip of his hot espresso while Lewis waited for his to cool down. "My dad killed my sister. Tragic. I know."

Lewis blinked, the words gliding over instead of being absorbed. "What?"

"Apparently, she was wealthy and didn't give any money to my alcoholic father and in his rage, he stabbed a bottle through her heart... or head, I can't remember." He just let the information roll off without any care. It sounded like he had said it many times before and was merely repeating words.

"Mine's not fucked up as yours but an abusive mother counts right?" Lewis did not expect the bitterness in voice. "Aren't all humans fucked up in some way?" The black-haired man said. Narco nodded and sipped his coffee, throat bobbing as he swallowed.

"True," Narco gave a resentful smile.

The atmosphere was heavy after the small comment. Narco was thinking about every person he knew and realized that there was no such thing as normal. Everybody is fucked up, some are better at hiding it. The writer didn't know how and when he had become so wise. Maybe the presence of the artistic man affected his thoughts.

The shrill ring of Lewis's phone cut through their thoughts. Lewis mouthed a sorry and the artist waved him off.

"Oh, not again!" Lewis groaned as he slouched. Narco was curious but decided it was none of his business. Lewis angrily ended the call, brows drawn together and lips creating hateful wrinkles. He downed the bitter coffee and stood up.

"I'm sorry, but I have to attend to my daughter." He said and grabbed money from his jacket, leaving it on the table. Narco felt guilty for no reason.

He was trying to know new people and this was just a friendly gesture. Why the formal tone? Did he have a wife or was he divorced? There was nothing to be guilty about... right?

Before Narco could ask to exchange numbers, the black-haired man had bolted out the door and was already boarding a bus.

He sighed and finished his coffee before calling the waitress over and paying.