He Hates Waiting For Somebody

Killian sat on the balcony until the morning light broke through. It was his first time witnessing the dawn in the Netherlands, with its yellow and maroon hues, but to Killian, it seemed anything but beautiful.

Everything had lost its color when the person he loved took theirs away.

For five years, he had lived in the vibrant hues of Lana's presence, and now he had to exist in his own dull palette—a palette he had forgotten, or perhaps never had.

Lana had been his light, painting his world in vivid colors. But memories, unlike people, don't stay with us forever.

This painful realization settled heavily on him as he glanced at his watch.

It was already 9 o'clock. He knew the cafés would be opening soon, and even if they weren't, he would wait until the afternoon. He wanted to visit Café Wabi-Sabi first.

He grabbed his phone and headed towards the main door of his hotel room. It was the height of summer in the Netherlands, a stark contrast to his inner winter.

As Killian walked through the lobby, he felt the weight of countless gazes on him. Some people stared openly, others watched as he passed.

Despite the broken state of his heart, he managed to maintain a serious demeanor, though his eyes betrayed his exhaustion.

He pushed through the lobby and stepped outside, determined to find some semblance of solace in the familiar surroundings of Café Wabi-Sabi. Killian took a taxi and said to the driver,

— "HJ street, Café Wabi-Sabi."

The driver smiled a bit and started the engine, heading towards the destination.

Killian stared at every corner of Amsterdam, as if he wanted to capture the entire city in his eyes. He put down the window to feel the fresh morning air.

"Lana also walked these streets! She also breathed this same air!"

He thought. Killian couldn't understand why he still thought about Lana, who didn't even consider him worth giving a proper reason for leaving.

He had given her unconditional love, but what about her? He took a deep breath.

The driver, noticing the heaviness in Killian's thoughts, chuckled softly, as if he knew something. Killian glanced at the driver through the rearview mirror.

— "What's funny?"

He asked, his voice tinged with curiosity and a hint of irritation. The driver, still smiling, replied,

— "Nothing much, sir. Just noticing that sometimes, a heavy heart shows on the face. It's a universal language, you know?"

Killian looked away, gazing out of the window again. The driver's words lingered in his mind. Maybe, he thought, everyone has their own burdens, their own stories of loss and love.

The driver let Killian figure it out on his own. As they drove, Killian saw a couple holding hands, smiling at each other.

He watched them until they faded from view, their happiness a stark contrast to his own turmoil.

The car stopped. They had reached the destination. Killian's eyes took in the surroundings until they locked onto the finest sight he had ever seen: Café Wabi-Sabi.

The simplicity and elegant font of the café's sign caught Killian's attention.

The exterior design was charming, exuding a sense of tranquility and warmth. He stared at the building for a long time, admiring its understated beauty.

But when his gaze fell upon the door, he saw that it was closed. Disappointment washed over him.

The café, which he had hoped would provide solace, was not open yet. He stood there, taking in the quiet street and the stillness of the morning, feeling the weight of his loneliness even more profoundly.

That's right, the café hadn't opened yet. Killian looked puzzled, so he got out of the car, paid the driver, and started walking towards the café.

The two-story building was beautifully decorated, standing alone amidst the surrounding area, making it a picturesque, poetic sight.

The café was easy to spot, with its elegant charm and simplicity. A large tree beside the building added to its dreamy ambiance.

The telephone booth and the beautiful handwriting on the signboard couldn't go unnoticed.

Killian's eyes were drawn to the signboard, and he moved closer to read it. The sign read: "Café Wabi-Sabi: Start from the End."

The words resonated deeply with him. He traced the elegant script with his eyes, feeling a connection to the message.

— "Wow! Pretty handwriting!"

Killian couldn't help but admire the elegant script. The craftsmanship was impressive, and he found himself momentarily distracted from his gloom.

However, his mood soured when he read that the café opened after midnight and closed at 6 AM.

"Who sets café hours like this?"

He muttered to himself, feeling frustrated. Was this some kind of trendy, avant-garde thing?

His frown deepened as he continued reading the sign, noticing that reservations were required.

The idea of writing letters to secure a spot annoyed him further.

— "This place better be worth it."

He thought, irritation mingling with curiosity. Despite his annoyance, he couldn't deny the pull of the café's charm and the mysterious allure of its unconventional hours.

Killian took a deep breath, trying to quell his frustration, and decided to find out more about the reservation process. Killian had never encountered a café quite like this before.

The rules seemed almost otherworldly to him, as if they belonged to a realm far removed from his own experiences.

But his curiosity piqued sharply when he saw the name of the café's owner: "Serene Yamada."

He recalled how Lana had often praised this person, though he had never paid much attention at the time.

Now, the name struck a chord, bringing back echoes of Lana's admiration.

The word "Wabi-Sabi" was also unfamiliar to him. He had never heard it before, but something about it intrigued him deeply.

The more he thought about it, the more he wanted to uncover its meaning and the secrets of the café itself.

Desperation to enter the café gnawed at him. He felt an urgent need to immerse himself in its ambiance, to understand why Lana had spoken so highly of it. But he was forced to wait.

Then he noticed a detail on the sign: the names of eight individuals allowed in would be posted at 11 AM. There was still hope. Killian's heart raced with anticipation. He decided to stay and wait for the list to be posted.

Perhaps this was his chance to meet the elusive "Serene Yamada" or at least someone from the café who could help him understand why this place held such a magnetic pull on those who knew it.

Killian glanced at his wristwatch—9:33 AM. Two hours stretched ahead of him, a wait that gnawed at his patience.

The thought of standing around just to get a chance to enter the café felt almost demeaning.

In France, he was a popular figure; the media would clamor for his attention if he chose to grace them with his presence. Why should he have to wait for a café owner to grant him entry?

Killian saw a bench nearby and, in a decision that felt foreign to his pride, he chose to wait. As he lowered himself onto the bench, he felt a strange mix of emotions.

The bench, though simple and unassuming, seemed to mock his usual air of confidence and control.

He was always the one to dictate the terms, never one to wait or bend to another's rules. Yet here he was.

With each passing moment, memories of Lana flooded back, unbidden and relentless. He couldn't shake those moments, no matter how hard he tried to move on.

Every tick of the clock seemed to echo with the sound of her laughter, every breath reminded him of her presence.

The pain of her absence was like a constant weight on his chest, making it hard to breathe, hard to think.

Sitting there, he felt a hollowness, an absence of emotion that seemed to consume him.

The bench was uncomfortable, its hard surface a stark contrast to the luxurious surroundings he was accustomed to.

He shifted slightly, trying to find a more comfortable position, but there was no escaping the physical discomfort or the emotional turmoil.

He glanced at his watch again and again, the hands moving with agonizing slowness.

Time seemed to stretch, each minute feeling like an eternity. Killian always preferred not meeting someone over the agony of waiting. He believed that rejection was better than waiting in vain.

Yet, he couldn't understand why he couldn't move on from Lana. It was a mystery that gnawed at him, one he doubted he'd ever solve. She had been his world, her presence a constant source of light and joy.

Without her, everything seemed dimmer, less vibrant. The thought of her with someone else, living a life he was no longer a part of, was almost too much to bear.

As he sat there, the world around him continued to move. People walked by, glancing at him curiously but not stopping. Birds chirped in the trees, and the occasional car drove past.

It was a scene of normalcy, of life going on as usual, but for Killian, everything felt surreal.

He was caught in a moment that seemed disconnected from reality, a limbo where he was suspended between the past and the future.

The waiting was excruciating, especially because the outcome was unpredictable. What if he waited for hours only to be turned away?

The thought of being rejected after all this effort was almost unbearable, but the idea of walking away without even trying was equally intolerable. He felt trapped, caught between his pride and his desperation.

As he sat there, he tried to distract himself by observing his surroundings. The café, with its charming exterior and the sign with its elegant handwriting, seemed almost magical.

It was the kind of place that promised comfort and warmth, a refuge from the harsh realities of the world.

But it was also a reminder of his current predicament, of the uncertainty that had come to define his life.

He noticed the details—the way the sunlight filtered through the leaves of the big tree beside the café, casting dappled shadows on the ground. The telephone booth, a relic from another time, stood as a silent witness to his waiting.

Killian wondered why he couldn't just walk away. It wasn't like him to be this indecisive, this vulnerable.

But something kept him there, some stubborn spark of hope or perhaps just sheer desperation.

He knew that waiting was hard, especially when the result was unpredictable, but he couldn't help but cling to the possibility that this café, this seemingly insignificant place, might hold some answers or provide some solace.

As he sat there, staring at the closed café, he felt a mixture of frustration and determination.

He hated the feeling of being at the mercy of someone else's rules, of having to wait and hope for something that might never come.

But he also knew that sometimes, in the most unlikely places and the most unexpected ways, we find what we need.

And so he waited, every minute a painful reminder of his helplessness, but also a testament to his enduring hope.