A belly full of coffee ...and HE

It’s been hours, and nothing (well...almost) came close to disrupting my realm of addictive digital dialogue with a 13-inch screen until a stiffened neck demanded an interlude. Disengaging from the pixelated dimension, I shifted to the universal humanly leisure activity of staking out live characters in the surrounding.

The window next to me saw a dim sight - passing wet vehicles and the lazy rain with blooming umbrellas. To my left … well, nothing truly enticing but an old(ish) bloke ruffling through the newspaper. Shifting my search across space led me to a clear view of the café’s entrance and cashier’s counter. “Hmm, maybe here..." I thought to myself. A quick glance sums up the entire queue - a group of chatty teens at the end of the line, a couple with arms entwined paying in front of the line, while a foreign-looking male is up next, followed by a granny so small by contrast just behind his tall attractive figure.

“Good afternoon Sir, what will you have?” asked the cashier at the counter as she greeted him warmly. He stood motionless for a long time, gazing quietly at the menu board plastered on the wall. Well, he was ‘white’ - as we Asians typically term Caucasians - so one would not expect language issues in understanding nor reading English. “What would you like to have today, Sir?” repeated the cashier with a sunny smile but in a distinctly hurried tone now, seeing the long queue building up. Yet, there was no verbal response but a slight tilt of his head with furrowed brows and still silence… locked in a trance. The granny behind him had with her, a fidgety young child attempting to reach for the rack of colourful lollipops on the counter accidentally nudging Mr Trance out of his frozen posture. Realizing that he was holding up the crowd, he gestured for the old lady to move up ahead, awkwardly mumbling something inaudible from where i sat.

I figured it must be one of those unrelenting chaotic days, where choosing between coffee or tea makes a challenging life decision. My curiosity alert bulb lit up with questions - what occupies his thoughts? Where is he from? Why is he here? What could induce such paralyzing effect on simple, ordinary actions? I lost my battle of focus as this was no longer a brief pause but an 'investigation underway.. a story waiting to be told!'. It was hard to tear my gaze away; all six foot tall of him in faded denim jeans, a stark white tee against the bronze tan and shoulder-length hair. Not a hint of troubled anxious expression was shown earlier, but strangely, in the sudden flick of a switch, his calm demeanour was now shrouded by such apprehension or confusion as he stood firmly rooted close to ten minutes before he finally finds his voice. “Err, just a flat white please” - the seemingly relieved cashier finally keyed in the order.

Reaching hastily for his back pocket, he pulled out a recognisable monogrammed designer wallet - one that matches the stylish crossbody slung across his broad shoulders - and quickly whipped out a purple note. Feeling conscious and aware of the many glaring stares, he grabbed his change without counting and moved away from the line. Balancing his wobbly tray, he walked towards a hidden corner about two tables away from me and plonked heavily down into the chair – looking less hurried now, more at ease. As he nestled comfortably into his seat, he lets his gaze wander, as if searching, in lost thoughts again; still unmoving silence. Just as I had begun to finely trace the lines of his facial profile from afar, in a jolting move, he sits upright and abruptly runs his fingers through his tousled hair. Grasping the handle of the hot mug firmly but slowly, he carefully brings it toward him, raises it to his lips and sips through the brewing steam. I am amazed at the time lost observing this subject of interest prolonging the disconnect with my device (now on ‘sleep-mode’). Although not originally meant to be in my flow of itinerary, I now was intent on blending this suspiciously endearing character into my daily script given that HE has ‘unintentionally’ stumbled into my search path by chance... or fate, we shall see. Surely, as cliché as this may sound, there must be more than meets the eye? What IS behind his fascinating fasçade - true or guise? To be continued...