His hand lifted gently from his pockets, fingers clasping the edges of his phone a little too tightly. Ibrahim’s eyes flickered away from the clean road, and all the cars passing by, focusing on the customers inside of the cafe; they were like dotted flecks of paint to him—some dreamy, endless cerulean vessels, and others with soft hues of all sorts of colors—his heart longed to go inside, to be greeted with close arms by the sweet aroma of his favorite brewed cup. But he had a call, one he would rather not take inside with him. “Hello,” he breathed out, feeling the hairs on his arms rise and the bite of the wind leaving marks in the form of small tingling bumps. “You better have what I need,” says an authoritative voice on the other side, just before a sharp end of the call that Ibrahim missed.
“Give me some time okay,” he pleaded, then when he heard no response, he added, “Hello?” Ibrahim features remained a semblance of neutrality, and his mouth pressed into a timely, well-practiced line. But his eyes slanted curiously at those who were inside as he admired them sitting in their seats. “A cup should do me good.” He dipped his phone back into his pockets, stuffed with crumpled receipts and candy wrappers, then stepped inside the cafe. The bell above him, as it always had done, had the same three short rings. But every time, it caught him off guard.
Her friend's voice proceeded to sound on the phone, as Reverie had to stand by the side to wait for her cup of Americano, hoping for it to warm her up before she rejoins the outside. Though she had been dressed in clothes that kept her warm, the cold air outside managed to take the warmth of her body, the tips of her ears red and her cheeks faintly pink over the temperatures. Her eyes glanced at the entrance upon hearing the familiar bell make it's small ringings, catching the sight of someone familiar. Her mind now partly listened to her friend's ramblings her voice droning out as Reverie's attention was caught by the male.
He looked very familiar she knew, but for a moment there, she didn't know why. She continued staring at him longer than she intended to. "Ibrahim?" she mumbled to herself, soon the sounds of her name being called by her friend and the woman behind the counter bringing her back from her thoughts, remembering she was still on the phone with her friend. "Ibrahim? Your childhood friend?" Reverie caught her friend asking, in which the brunette disregarded, taking her order and leaving her payment on the counter. "No, it's nothing, someone just looked a lot like him." She replied, turning around to take a seat in one of the free tables.
His thoughts were scattered every which way; some were much gentle, as they floated in the air like wind stricken leaves bright with autumn, softly swaying down to be crushed beneath other thoughts like papery stems; others were much heavier, as though he was walking in a fog, thick and murky, wrapped in his own brain; and some, that dumped a whole lot of questions, causing his brow, thick with dark hairs, to knot. He touched the tip of his tongue to the roof of his mouth, and could nearly taste the bitterness of his thoughts. He hadn’t thought of the future for long; the past calls much more strongly for him. Everything that mattered is in a time he can no longer unlock, in a place he can no longer travel to.
But he still longed for it.
There were things he felt he should have done; things he would take back if time would allow. And he would have continued into deep thought of wisps of a newly brewed cup of dark coffee, the usual fresh smell of it that always drew him out of his own bubble, made him blink. “Ibrahim,” said a distinct familiar voice. “Ibrahim!” It became louder as he soon realized it was the woman behind the counter nearly shouting his name. He could feel the color climbing his cheeks, as they burned and tingled. “Sorry,” he muttered low, curling a hand through his hair, tucking a tousle behind an ear. A childhood habit he still had.
“You do this every time you come,” She notes gently, before doing another customer. Ibrahim gave a little smile, his eyes still holding on to the thoughtfulness of his crazed mind, his cheeks still pink. “Sorry everyone,” he apologized now to everyone inside, for the noise he may have caused.
Though she had been listening to her friend's rambling and honest confessions of her thoughts about her week in Italy, Reverie's eyes kept trailing back to the familiar male that entered the café shop. One she thought as her childhood friend. But it didn't take long for her to confirm it, hearing the woman she had previously interacted with, calling out his name this time. A wave of realization hit her, at the same time, emotions of both positive and negative came to her, like cold water being washed over her before the hot water came soon as well, the process repeating. The brunette didn't know how to feel, her thoughts jumbled up and she had to cut her and her friend's call short. "Sorry, I have to go. I'll talk to you later." Reverie's finger pressed over the red button on the glowing screen.
The female felt angered for seeing him back, but another part of her longed to catch up on the many moments they've missed. Her other self was telling her to act like she hadn't known him and just ignore and forget everything about him again, happy with how her life was going now. Another part of herself was urging her to talk to him, see how much he'd changed. He still had the same face as he had before, one she still remembered clearly but less childish. She caught on to his movements, still similar as she had remembered his younger self doing before as well, and Reverie couldn't help but smile a bit when she heard him apologize.
Soon she found herself walking to Ibrahim, leaving her booth and her beverage, and no time turn around and go back to her seat, stopping in a comfortable distance apart from Ibrahim. "Ibrahim, hey, remember me, Reverie?" It was awkward how she didn't think of her actions clearly, now just regretting her poor choice of approach. It would be more embarrassing if he didn't remember her at all and found her weird to have known his name.
After apologizing, he turned slightly, his eyes now focusing on the small bells above the door. Their short rings still rung in his ears as he a little distant from his surroundings again, slowly being led back to his thoughts as the soft, quiet sounds of content of those within the building slowly became blurred noises. Unknowingly, his head dipped into a subtle bow, and he gently drummed his still numb fingers against the back of his ear. Soon, another familiar voice called out his name, swiftly drawing him back to reality before his very entity could drift off to his bubble. “Yes,” he answered lowly, whipping around quickly to see the face of the caller. His deep brown eyes, that resembled coffee without foamed milk, roamed until they reached the face of girl before him. “Reverie?” He repeats it, his voice lower, as he tried to paint a clear connection between the name and the face of the owner of it.
His fingers soon thumbed over a too visible beauty mark just beside his eye. “You look..familiar. And your name sounds so familiar too.”
He thought longer, pushing up his bottom lip childishly as he did. And when it finally hit him, his breath lodged in his throat, eye fluttering over her face. The pale column of his throat bobbed with a heavy swallow as he brought his fingers to his bottom lip, running his thumb over it before gently tapping. Another childhood habit he couldn’t let go of. “Reverie, it’s been a long while,” he gasped gently, then added quickly, “I hope you aren’t still mad.”