Intersecting lines always meet—they're exact opposites, yet somehow, they still meet, if only for a brief moment.
16:38 - January 4th, two years ago. I still miss you.
As the snow falls onto the land below, submerging the streets in its entrancing beauty, I continue to look outside at the sheets of white. It feels like an endless sight before my mundane eyes—truly infinite. As each snowflake falls, my patience grows thinner. A thought, engulfed by both curiosity and worry, crosses my mind: What's taking her so long?
I'm waiting for a friend I haven't seen in years. Her name is something like Aurora. Actually I'm pretty sure it is Aurora. I still remember her bright, warm smile and emerald-green eyes. Her soothing voice and pure blonde hair. That girl was always so alive—a vigorous soul.
I remember that blistering summer day, the sun conjuring a heatwave, the birds chirping in the same melodic tune. As we ran through the damp forest, I recall being engulfed by both the torrid heat and euphoria in those few seconds.
We were running to an old, rundown café we used to adore before the crowd hit. It was our little favorite spot. In those few moments, it was all so surreal—magical, even. Maybe it was because we were still so close. Until you let go of my hand—just for a second, only temporary. Until you let go again—forever, for eternity, until now.
But that was a while ago. It's crazy how much time has passed. It's no wonder she recently got engaged to that charm. I mean, that's probably the reason she called me out so suddenly. I feel kind of horrible for already knowing.
But with that very remorseful thought, I feel my fist tighten, my tapping evolving into something tense.
Why should I be stuck with these feelings? She was the one who left me. Why should I feel bad at all? She's just being a mess, inviting me out here all of a sudden like I'm supposed to drop everything for her. Or maybe she was right.
As I keep my gaze fixated on the falling snow, an unfamiliar, incandescent warmth begins to evolve inside me—a warmth rooted not in comfort but in unknown temptations.
Unknown temptations that engulf me whole in this café.
As the ambrosial fragrance of coffee and pastries consumes me, it somehow makes that feeling even weirder. The enveloping warmth radiating from this café contrasts sharply with the endless snowy terrain outside.
Sitting inside a building that protects me from the clouds conjuring great winds, the biting cold, and the piles of snow, I can still hear the annoying whispers of the people around me—talking while I wait for her.
With each snowflake passing my mundane eyes, the mumbles of people slowly mature into a loud chatter, gradually overtaken by a gentle carol. An idea comes—one consumed by impatience.
I should get a coffee. She's taking forever.
I get up from my seat and walk to the cashier. The line isn't surprisingly long at all. Even though all these people are here, there's just one person ahead of me.
The nimble steps of my feet incrementally harmonize with the music, each step falling with the beat of the melody. As I walk, counting each step of my voyage, I study the melancholic scene that surrounds me: the ambient dim light, with the amiss paintings of chaotic dogs and cats seeming like a juxtaposition from the homely atmosphere, and plants accompanying my vision on this short journey.
"Hi, welcome to Doggystyle Cafe, what can I get for you?" the cashier asks.
"Hello, can I get a medium iced coffee, please?" I say..
"Sorry, what was that?" the worker replies.
"Can I get a medium iced coffee, please?" I repeat.
"Ma'am, I can't hear you. Can you speak a little louder?"
"Can I get a medium iced coffee?" I request again.
"Oh–Okay got it… Is there anything else you'd like to order?"
"No, thank you."
"What name is it for?"
"It's for Elora."
"Okay, your total is $7.43. You can pick it up over there on your right when it's ready. Have a good day!"
With that final sentence from the worker, I could only wait again—now for a coffee and her.
Outside, the snowfall swifts into a storm, growing stronger each second. The dissonant sounds only get louder, killing my eardrums. Engulfed in a waiting game all too familiar, my patience shrinks further.
The same thought keeps returning: What's taking her so long?
But in that moment, I find myself shifting my weight onto one foot—tilted slightly—and for a second, everything stops.
Until I hear those very mutters.
"Are you okay?"
That was the very moment I met her.
The very moment I met Angelica.