Maybe it was to avoid unwanted attention or perhaps to find some much-needed peace or, as my sister always said: alone time, but that is how I ended up at Café  Blossom in the wee hours of the morning.

"If you are alright with a small place that doesn't offer free Wi-Fi or a charging station, I know a place that you can spend your mornings at." Fren, my colleague, had suggested the evening before. She had then proceeded to message me the location and phone number of the café.

"Call them up beforehand to see what time they open." She had suggested, before leaving me in the staff room to mull over it.

Without wasting time, I had called up, and a cheery voice had greeted me, "Hello, Café Blossom. How may I help you?"

Hesitantly I had enquired, "I am an early riser, I was wondering... "

"I understand. We open at 5 am." The lady had chirped and added, "Though, we only start serving by 5.30. I hope that's good enough for you."

"Yes, it is. Thank you." I had replied, feeling relieved and disconnected.
At 5.15 am sharp, I parked my moped, locked my helmet, and walked into the little shop I had never heard about till last evening.

As soon as I stepped in, an oval faced woman with kind eyes and a warm smile greeted me, "Good morning, welcome to Blossom."

The woman, who looked like she was in her early to mid-thirties, gestured me to hang my coat on the stand placed near the entrance, bowed, and disappeared into an adjacent room which I presumed was the kitchen.

I looked around the small establishment, taking in the French window, the beautiful pale yellow curtains depicting cherry blossoms held back by elegant knots at the sides. On the maroon walls hung a multitude of frames depicting seasons and sceneries that they brought along with them. 

"It's beautiful," I stated, as the lady who had welcomed me earlier entered my line of sight and took a seat overlooking a cedar tree.

"Thank you, my dear." She said, placing the menu and a glass of water in front of me, "Call me aunty Ling, that's what everyone calls me." she added, smiling once again.

"Aunty Ling?"

"Mn." She nodded, "That's the easiest way to get my attention." she paused when I looked at her questioningly and continued, "Provided you become a regular." She chuckled and left.

I opened my laptop and started typing notes for my morning class. It was nice and quiet: just what I needed. As I immersed myself in work, I lost track of time.

I was pulled out of my reprieve when the bell at the entrance chimed. A man of Asian origin entered and took the table in front of mine.

I realized that Ling did not come to welcome her guest. I looked the time and couldn't believe that an hour had passed already. Unlike other Cafés that I had been to, neither had aunty Ling disturbed me, nor had she pressed me to place an order.

I went over my notes and couldn't believe the amount of work I had gotten done in just an hour. Smiling to myself, I put the laptop away and glanced at the man, the only other customer apart form me.

The man, in the meanwhile, had taken out a book of some kind and was rampaging through his knapsack.
He was so engrossed in what he was doing that he did not even realize that I was observing him.

He pulled out a sketch pen and held it up to the window; he smiled, and my heart skipped a beat.

The smile, how to explain it? It was soft and seductive at the same time. I had never seen a man who could smile like that, and I couldn't look away.

He placed the pen on the table and started rampaging again, and my common sense kicked in. I did not want to be caught staring.

At that precise moment, my stomach grumbled. It was embarrassingly loud. I hoped and prayed that I was not loud enough to be heard by the man with an angelic smile, but I was not that lucky.

The man looked up; the first rays of morning sun streamed in through the window, making him glow.

His dark, sharp monolid eyes zeroed in on me, and he quirked his brow. Narrowing his eyes, he took me in; drank me in like only an artist's can, and then, he smiled.

It was different than before: sweet, teasing, as if he had caught me misbehaving and approved of it.

He lowered his eyes, set his knapsack on the table, and taking long, confident strides, disappeared into the adjacent room: the kitchen.

My heart began to race. A multitude of questions about the beautiful man and his unexpected behavior popped into my mind:

Why did he suddenly leave?

Could anyone walk inside like that?

Was he a regular?

I was still wondering about his intentions when the door opened, and he walked out, closely followed by Ling, who was carrying a tray.

The man, who I could not tear my gaze away from, gave me a small bow and took his place;  he went back to rampaging through his knapsack.

Meanwhile, Ling set the tray in front of me, "My dear," she called, making me look away from the man, "Ya?" I asked, and she pointed at the tray. "Have something," she suggested, pointing at the tray that held a couple of slices of apples and a banana.

"But I didn't... "

"I know, but he insisted," Ling said, glancing at the man sitting a table away. I peeked around Ling to see what he was up to and found him immersed in drawing something.

"Thank you, aunty Ling. I am Sara, by the way." I said, more for the stranger's ears than my host's.

"That's a beautiful name! " She exclaimed, smiling like she meant it and added, "Let me know if you need anything else, alright."

I nodded, and she left.

With one more furtive glance at the gorgeous man, I turned my attention to the food placed in front of me, and within minutes I was feeling full, happy, and more prepared to face the world.

Maybe I should have fruits for breakfast every day.

Looking up, I caught him glancing at me; a ghost of a smile lingered on his lips; I nodded, pointing at the plate, and he smiled again.

This time once again, his smile held a different flavor; it was shy and surprised. Like he was the one caught this time around.

He shook his head and went back to drawing, and I pulled out a few assignments I needed to go over and tried my best not to let my eyes wander over to the table in front of mine.

Soon, sooner than had wanted, my phone buzzed, signaling that I had overstayed in the tiny café.

Hurriedly, I stuffed my papers and laptop into the bag and looked around. The man was gone, and Ling was behind the cash counter, busy looking at something.

I walked over to Ling, "Aunty, how much do I owe you?" I enquired, and she pouted, "Aigoooo Sara, it was on the house!" She said, looking a little offended.

Oh!

"I.. I..." I stammered, and the kind lady smiled. She took my hands in hers, "Will I see you tomorrow?" She enquired, and I nodded my head.

"Do you study nearby?" She guessed, pointing at my bag, and I shook my head, "I teach at Long Dale college." I replied, and her eyes widened, "Ah, you are a professor." She stated, sounding surprised and impressed.

"Yes."

She looked at the time and gasped, "Oh dear, I must not hold you back. Your students will curse me." She said, fringing mock horror, making me chuckle.

"They dare not. After all, you filled my growling tummy." I replied, and with a promise to see her the following day at the same time, I left.

The next day, I was back at the café. And just like the day before, I pulled out my laptop and started working.
A few minutes later, however, I remembered that in my excitement to get there, I had forgotten to have my daily dose of coffee.

I looked around and found her fixing a frame on the wall.

"Aunty Ling?"

"Yes, my dear?" She replied without looking at me.

"Could I have a cup of café latte, please?"

"Sure, give me a few." She replied, wiping her hands over her apron and walking inside; I went back to my assignment.

A few minutes later, aunty Ling returned with a steaming cup, filling the café with the sensuous aroma of richly brewed coffee. She placed it in front of me.

The door chimed, and my wish came true: In walked the man from yesterday. He was wearing a blue shirt; it clung to his frame like it was tailor-made for him.

Unlike the day before, his gaze drifted over to me, and he bowed; I returned the gesture.

He took the table in front of mine like the day before and got down to business.

I felt disappointed. Why, I did not know. What I did know for sure, however, was that his smiles had me trapped. And the only way to free myself from this self-made prison was to take the bull by the horns.
I took a deep breath, picked up my cup of coffee (for some much-needed courage), and walked over to his table.

"Excuse me?"

He looked up, and I gestured to the seat in front of him; he nodded, looking a little bewildered, and went back to looking through his backpack.

"Thank you, for yesterday," I said, trying to catch his attention, and he looked up. He smiled.

To my surprise, it was sad, forlorn. The light from the open window streamed in and caught on his silky, dark mane that casually fell over his forehead. His brows creased, and he went back to his sack, looking through its contents.

Maybe I had expected too much. Maybe, I was not good enough.
Feeling dejected at the rejection, I  stood up. But before I could move away, he caught my wrist.

"It's not you. It's me," the man replied in a deep voice that held pain and dismay.

"Mn?" I questioned, confused, and he slid the book, the one he was drawing in the day before, over to me.

"What... " I started, but he didn't let me finish, "The reason why it's not you." He added cryptically.

I opened the book and started flipping through its pages one by one. It was after I had flipped through about five or six pages that I realized what I was looking at: It was the grand cedar tree the window overlooked.

I continued to flip the pages.
Though it was the same tree, every version of it was slightly different from the last.

He had drawn the tree over the seasons. As the seasons had changed, so had the image: spring, summer, autumn, and winter.

When I had flipped through the four seasons, I wondered why he had handed me the book.

I looked up and caught his gaze, "I don't get it."

"How many cycles?" He enquired.

"One," I replied, and he gestured me to continue.

I turned to the next page, and once more, spring greeted me. But it was different from the first one, duller.

As I continued to go through the second cycle, I observed that the colors had continued to grow less vibrant, the lines and shading were not as neat as the first cycle either.
Soon, I entered the third cycle. The spring didn't look like spring anymore; the winter continued. The seasons lost their flavor as colors mingled, and the lines faded. Like they had lost their purpose and existed only for the sake of existing.
I turned to the last page, and my eyes lingered on the bookmark. It was a photo of the cedar, much younger, and in all its glory. Next to the tree stood a young boy of around twelve or thirteen clutching a young woman's dress.

"Aunty Ling." I whispered, and the man nodded and added, "Mother."

I looked at my coffee; it had gone cold. My chest hurt.

Had the chill from the cup entered my heart, I wondered, and a tear rolled down my cheek and fell on the picture; I wiped it off hastily and looked up, "I don't understand." I lied. For what the pictures told me couldn't be true. Could it?

"But you do; you understand. Somethings are just not meant to be. I will never be able to capture the colors and shapes like I used to. I am incomplete. Soon, there will be no colors left in my world, and I don't want anyone to be a part of my black." he said resolutely and closed the book shut, returning it to its home. With that, he got up and walked outside. He opened his knapsack, took out a folded white cane, flicked it open, and looked over his shoulder, "Farewell." He said and smiled before closing the door and walking away.

Like all his smiles before, this one spoke to me too. It spoke to me about the man's courage, his resolve, and his strength, but above all, it spoke to me about his heart, strong and selfless.

{Note :- Word count 2267}