Coffee Affair

Chapter Five

Harry's P.O.V

I hang up quickly after hearing her voice. I don't have anything to say to her. I don't want to speak to her, the memories of what a occurred will soon drift back into my mind; so I decide to open the book I purchased at the small book store. I'm soon engulfed by the words the author chose to describe a sad tale about a man who still obtains feelings for his wife. His depression and love for alcohol are said to cure of his broken heart. What an Idiot. I think to myself. Everyone should know that mixing negative emotions with any kind of drugs won't mend the broken heart. 

"Oh come on Neil, I already have Hamlet It's on my book shelve. Go take a look for yourself!" Her voice slowly drifts away as I continue to read. 

When I look up she's gone. An unfamiliar feeling of disappointment is soon welcomed. For some unknown reason, I was intrigued by the young girl. There was something strange about her, the soft tone as she spoke to whoever was on the other end of her phone call, how polite she was even though anger overtook her body, or the simple smile she gave me when her eyes observed her surroundings. I couldn't figure it out, and it bothered me. 

I decided to head back home. The cars that were once in the driveway were gone, meaning that my parents and grandmother were probably out shopping themselves. I bent down to look for the small extra keys by grandmother placed under her doormat. I've told her several times that it's not safe to keep them there. It's obvious and one day they will barge into her home and possibly steal all her valuable items. 

After wrapping the gifts I had purchased earlier I decided to head back into the living room to write. Something I haven't been doing in a while. Work, school and running a small club leaves me no time to do what I truly enjoy. I slowly reach for my poetry book as I begin to write down anything that comes into my hopeless mind. Laughs and loud footsteps soon bring down the silence that I was enjoying as my parents waved at me and walked their way down the hall into the kitchen. My grandmother followed behind but soon turned. 

"Harry, are you writing?" She questions in a curious tone.

"Yeah, well it's just a stupid little poem, but yes I am."

"Oh nonsense! What is the poem about? If you don't mind me asking? She quickly adds. 

I don't respond but look down at what I have written so far. As I skim through my usage of words, I soon come to realize that I had been writing about her. Every adjective used reminded me of the girl I had encountered once. 

"It's about a girl I encountered earlier at the small coffee shop on Main Street."  I quickly say. 

She smiles kindly as she sits on the couch in front of me. "Did you speak to her?"  Her soft voice made it comfortable for me to be talking about these things to her. 

"No. But there was something about her that captivated me. She was beautiful but they way she spoke and her body language, I don't know."  I sound fucking crazy. 

"No you don't" My grandmother states. Did I say that out loud?

"Go to the shop again. Not tomorrow because it's Christmas and I'm sure everything is closed, but the day after. If she's there don't hesitate to speak to her. If not, you lost an opportunity. But always remember that this life is mad. You may encounter the girl under a strange circumstances or maybe never will you see her again. I'll let you sleep on it." She simply nods as if saying excuse me and walks away. 

I'm left to wonder if I should take her wise advice and see what comes out of it or just simply forget about my silly little actions and feelings towards a stranger.