Carolina and The Fan Non-fiction | H.S

One

V I V I E N

November 11, 2016

At sunset

Sillons Café, Bloomsbury

No fan fictions

Nothing cheesy

Surprise me

I groaned, looking at the note.

Too many romantic stories have been done by too many damn good writers that it's nearly impossible to avoid the clichés. Sometimes I think it's because love is universal and thus similarly experienced, other days I feel like I'm just not creative enough.

When you're a writer, it's established that you've probably read so much. So much that it accelerates the process. But sometimes, when you've read so much, anything you write feels unoriginal. That someone has already written it somewhere. Sometimes, it's more like a brake than an accelerator. And that's why for any write-up that's asked of me so far, I've always settled for creative nonfiction. I was a feature writer in my high school. I grew in that area of writing.

Unlike fiction, you deal with something that has already happened. You feel the words because the things those words represent are real. You can't argue with yourself about it being too similar to another event because it just is.

Not with fiction. Not especially with romantic fiction. Not in the style I write.

I want it to feel real, too. I swear I've been back and forth with extra-terrestrial and dystopian love themes but I'm not convinced I'll do well with those genres. At least not yet. I want the emotions and the things that play out to be something that could happen in reality. But how do you blow someone's mind with what the world already knows could happen. Unless, it's something possible but none of us have ever realized it was.

I hummed. I finally might get somewhere with this idea.

This project has completely occupied my thoughts. This is a defining output for our final grade after all. I flunk this course subject or any of my course subjects and I'll be on that plane back home.

It grabbed the curious side of my head, too, because I'm diving into warm waters. And I'm aware my winter of a mind isn't ready for all the heat. The change in temperature. Heck, I've already wasted the first week of our writing process just trying to construct the general idea of my romantic flash fiction paper. I've obviously been finding it hard so I'm curious to know the end result of all these hassle.

I sighed, looking at the note again.

No fan fictions

Nothing cheesy

Surprise me

These were three reminders, or criteria of some sort, given for us to consider in making the flash fiction. Only three and so far, none of the concepts I've squeezed out of my brain seem to qualify. The white screen in front of me has only ever seen as far as a single paragraph before I backspaced hard on all the words.

Still with a blank page, I grab my hot chocolate and sipped.

I notice the dark and blue of the sky have slowly taken over the orange of the sun. I have definitely stayed a little longer again than I normally would. But I think the crew here are used to my presence anyway.

I've frequented this café since October and the cashier already perfected the spelling of my name for the cup—not that my name's too hard to spell, it just has variations with the E's and I's.

Sillons Café became my refuge away from the university. Not that I don't like it over there. It's just that the setting overwhelms me sometimes, especially when writing. The in-campus library, café, and study room I find too academic and full most of the time. Here, I feel a little less consumed.

It surprised me that this place doesn't get packed with customers. Then again, there are cafes everywhere in Bloomsbury.

I also like the idea that it's a little hidden from the busy. All the more, it feels like a refuge or a haven for anyone who discovers it.

The coffee here is perfect too and as proof: I've already had two today. The second was a buy I've made out of frustration over my non-existent story but also because, well, the coffee is perfect. Though, now, as health precaution I've decided my third be hot chocolate.

I find myself staring at the empty screen again. I typed.

Something that is possible that none of us have ever realized was.

How do I tell myself something I probably don't know either? Truth is, while romance is an overrated theme, it's a difficult emotion to confront. It's difficult to define, and grasp, and express in language in a way that's brand new. Lucky are those writers who find their words and actually provide some unique realizations about it. But only some because you'd have to be a different level of human if you know all of romance's highways and byways.

"Cheesecake slice for this table," the waiter suddenly says, "anything else?"

"None, thank you," I replied.

I pick up the fork and serve myself a piece of the cheesecake slice. I snuck a little grin over the taste, looking somewhat stupid and sad probably. I was alone. However, the social construct that absence of company is equal to sadness won't stop me from appreciating the food which was very creamy.

My eyes drift again to the note. Then to the one sentence I have on the screen. I still have a long way to go and it's a good sign that I wasn't getting any thought of erasing the sentence yet.

Now, it's time for the specifics. The greatest takeaway of the reader, general plotline, characters, and other story elements.

My eyebrows were furrowed, fingers tapping the table, leg bouncing. My whole body was doing everything to help me spur ideas out. And even then, the corner of my eye managed to notice a figure walking towards me. Suddenly, my boring afternoon felt eventful, just bad eventful.

As the person took his long strides, I stopped my hand from tapping and reached for the fork. I play it off as if I was going to take another bite.

By now, the guy was seated in front me.

I refused to look up, hiding behind the laptop monitor, as I ate the cheesecake. My heart was pounding a little too hard for me to think that the movement I'm making was obvious. Then I took another bite of the cheesecake. And another. And another, trying to keep hold of the fork just in case I need weapon for defense.

"Mind if I keep you company?" the stranger spoke. His voice was deep and too casual. If he plans to rob me, he sure does sound friendly and deceptive. With that I keep it casual as well.

"No, not at all," I replied, putting down the fork. There was a pen near my laptop's touchpad. I eyed it as if to prepare it as alternative to my fork in case I needed a weapon for defense.

Silence ensued as I placed my hands over the keyboard and typed, 'What is romance' repeatedly to make it look like I was caught up with something else, while I keep my pen under watch. My heart rate was probably still up as I fight to keep my breathing normal and calm. Nothing seems to happen though.

"Am I disturbing? You seem busy," he said, breaking the wordless tension.

"Actually, I—"

a/n: Hello, welcome to the story that I originally planned to be a one-shot. Upon reaching a thousand words for this part alone, I decided to make a full-length fanfic instead~

By the way, Sillons is inspired by a legitimate coffee shop in London, called Dillons Coffee at Waterstones. Changed it to Sillons, whose rough translation in French (sillon) is like a crack (not weed), like a fracture. So Sillons is like a crack hidden in the busy streets of the city. aYE anyway, see you all in the next chapters byEE.

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