CHAPTER 6

Today, I promised myself to say something to her. This was just before I left my flat a little over an hour and a half ago. My place is quite far from this cozy café; it takes me about forty minutes to get here. On my way, I had a very thorough mental debate with myself about whether I should say anything to the lady or not. It has been more than a month of me just admiring her in silence, never said a word, never waved a hand. 

I convinced myself today was the day I was going to do something about it. I don't want to say much to her, just a simple 'hello'. That's all.

As I neared the café, I grew more nervous and tense, to the point that my hands were trembling just at the thought of it all. And so, I convinced myself that a simple wave of the hand would suffice, nothing too complex. Yes, just a wave. 

I got to the café before her, like always. I walked to the corner and sat at my usual booth and soon after, my waiter friend walks to my table with my usual order. Until today, we never used words- just a smile and a nod.

The rich scent of coffee in the air managed to calm me down and the idea of saying 'hello' instead of waving managed to sneak back into my mind. I indulge this thought for a while as I sip my latte with two shots of caramel and bite my slightly warmed croissant. 

I am rarely an indecisive man, but on matters concerning this lady, I really can never manage to make up my mind. And so the mental debate starts once again, on whether I should say hello or just wave. 

I fish out my Leo Tolstoy novel and read a few pages, this partially distracts me from thinking what I should do when she gets here. She comes in at her usual time- I like that about her, her punctuality. I set the book down and pick up the croissant and watch her as she says a warm hello to my waiter friend and walks to her table. Our eyes meet for a brief two seconds just as she is about to sit. I feel a slight shaking of my fingers and my heart skips a beat. I do not know if it is a mere coincidence or she actually meant to look my way. Nevertheless, I find myself smiling afterwards, more to myself than her. 

The lady has had the exact same routine every single day since she first set foot in the café on that rainy evening. She would walk through the door having exchanged quick pleasantries with the kind doorman, she would then say hello to my waiter friend if he wasn't occupied elsewhere. She would then proceed to her table, pull the chair slightly back, sit and pull it as close to the table as she possibly could. After getting comfortable, she delicately sets her MacBook on the table, fishes out a medium sized brown notebook and a pen, setting them both on the right side of the Mac and her phone on the left.

Please do not ask me how I know all this. I just happen to have a keen interest in the smallest of details, makes life a little more interesting. With the beautiful lady for instance, I have noticed how her face subtly shifts when she is deep in thought, and slightly furrows her brows. How she taps her pen twice before she starts writing, how her delicate fingers fluidly caress the keyboard. How she always remembers to push a strand of hair behind her ear after every few minutes, how her fingernails are always neatly trimmed with a different nail polish every week. How she tilts her head ever so slightly whenever she reads a text message. 

I doubt there is anyone who could possibly be paying attention to such meticulous detail, anyone besides me, that is. 

I observed her, like I always do. She finished setting up her Mac and started working, her eyes running from left to right of the screen and her fingers racing up and down the keyboard. I decided to also get back to my reading, can't exactly spend the entire evening staring at her, can I? 

After a while, I get a strange feeling, the feeling of being watched. At first I thought it was someone outside the café looking at me through the window, I raise my eyes from the book and dart them up and down the street but no one is watching me, just busy French men and women walking with hurried steps up and down the street. And so, I shift my gauze back in the café and believe it or not, I meet the beautiful lady's eyes. It is her who was looking at me, a rarity. My heart beats a little faster and my fingers shake for the second time this evening. After exactly four seconds, she looks back at her Mac and proceeds working. 

I do not know for certain if she meant to look at me or she was just staring absentmindedly as she was lost in thought. Whatever the case, my heart warmed up when I found her looking at me. I fought a good fight in attempting to hide the smile that so desperately wanted to come out. I looked away, picked up my croissant and took a bite and a sip of my beverage. 

A few minutes later, I glance at my wrist watch and my time in this cozy café has come to an end. I look up at the lady and she is deeply immersed in her work. The bright light of her Mac illuminates her face under the warmer café lights. I can't help but smile at how outstandingly beautiful she is. 

I close my book and neatly pack it away in my bag and reach for my wallet. My heart starts to beat faster again, faster this time because it's about that time that I promised myself I would say something to her. Mind you I have not made up my mind on whether I should say something or just wave at her. I place my pay plus the tip to my waiter friend under cup, tuck away my wallet and pick up my bag. I get up and walk towards the beautiful lady, I think I will say a quick "hello" and be on my way. Yes, that shouldn't be too hard, should it? 

As I near her table, I slow my steps and take a deep breath in and out. She looks up from her Mac, and our eyes meet again for the fourth time this evening. But this time, something's different—there's a determination in her gaze, or perhaps a quiet yearning. My heart races, and in a flash, I grow too nervous. I look straight ahead and walk past her.

Yes! I walked past her without uttering a single word to her. How disappointing of me! I want to turn back and go honor the promise I made to myself of saying "hello", but it is too late. I give the kind doorman a quick nod to bid him goodbye and goodnight and step into the street. Here I flag down a taxi, hop in the back and give the cabbie the address to my flat. 

What a disappointing evening!