CKwrites

"Sometimes, all we need is a cup of coffee with the right person."

Trapped in the routine of daily life, Rihan feels his dreams turning to dust. Then, a blast from the past, the vibrant Sia, reignites a spark he thought long extinguished. As their connection reignites, they revisit the ghosts of yesterday – lost passions, buried regrets, and the lingering embers of unspoken feelings. Over steaming cups of coffee and heartfelt conversations, they explore themes of hope, second chances, and the courage to chase long-forgotten dreams.

Coffee Chronicles

I scrolled the arrow, another virtual birthday wish plastered on my social media wall. A hollow like from a cheap drum echoed in my chest. Friends, connected, yet miles apart. Celebration, a distant memory shrouded by the blue glow of the screen. Just as I was about to shut down, a notification blinked on the corner. Another message.

The words stabbed. My gaze locked; body frozen. Broken dreams prickle deeper than shattered glass, and with each passing tick of the clock, the weight of that word pressed heavier. I tried to pry my eyes away, but a morbid fascination held them captive. Seconds stretched to minutes, the screen finally surrendering to the power saver, fading to black. A single tap could reignite it, but the thought repelled me. Like a thief fleeing the scene, I bolted up, leaving the graveyard of my aspirations behind.

The cool evening air whispered a lullaby, momentarily calming the storm within. Aimlessly, I wandered towards the market square. A hurried figure bumped into me, a muttered apology the only exchange before he vanished back into the crowd. A fleeting thought – would our paths ever cross again? But logic scoffed.

The word echoed in the caverns of my mind. Drawn by an invisible thread, I found myself before a small, familiar bookstore. The chime above the door announced my arrival as I pushed it open. The fragrance of aged paper and wood swirled around me. The shopkeeper, his eyes clouded with age, peered at me with a flicker of recognition. "Rihan? Long time."

A ghost of a smile crept onto my lips.

"New books have arrived," he rasped, gesturing towards the towering shelves.

I nodded, a leaden weight settling in my gut. Once, these very shelves whispered possibilities, each novel a silent challenge – "You can do better." Now, they loomed like accusing giants, mocking my failures. My fingers grazed a worn spine, my favorite book. Flipping through the pages, the words seemed to sneer. A dam broke within me. Squeezing my eyes shut, I couldn't stop the tear that splashed onto the open page, blurring a single word on the page: Dream.

The chime above the door announced a new arrival, shattering the silence. With a sigh, I replaced the book and turned to leave.

An ember flickered within me, a spark of defiance.

Dream.

With each step towards the door, the feeling grew, a familiar yet forgotten friend.

I burst through the door, the bell clanging, and a truth, long buried, resurfaced. The missing piece.

In that moment, a decision ignited.

The Echo of Dreams