I remember the small white room, glazed in yellow streaks of light from the bulbs that hum silently and the smell of espresso and caramel and mocha mixing and intoxicating the air in perfect chemistry. We were strangers then—trying to unlock the mystery behind the brew we love.
So you mean I am strong and sweet? You asked, a hint of curiosity in your eyes.
You said your favorite and I tried to interpret it, like how I’ve interpreted my feelings for you before this day.
Mocha is sweet and has a strong after-taste. I’ve never tasted pure Americano before so I can’t really tell. I answered.
We sighed. I toyed with the bag of sugar left in disposal. We were trying to feel the moment, trying to figure out the next words to say. I don’t want the air to be left damp and empty and so I managed to say:
I would love to taste that Americano one day and see what brew we’ll make and share. We smiled.
The night grew old and we bid our goodbyes. My heart sunk and poignancy but I waived nonetheless. Before I turned, before our connection’s lost, I asked:
Can I see you again some other time?
You answered. Yes. When we’re both free. I’d love to know what that Americano taste will be.