The irritating sound of the alarm was the first thing I woke up to on that Sunday morning. I dragged myself to the bathroom as usual, but this time it felt as if I were about to collapse with each step that I took. I knew that this happened because of what was waiting for me at the end of the day. As I looked in the bathroom mirror at myself, it dawned that this would be the last morning that I would wake up to. After doing the usual morning routine I opened my phone to see the activity that I had already planned for the day. Knowing that this was my final day, my plan was to go to my favorite coffee shop and finish the book that I had been reading.
Usually, I would use my bike to take me anywhere. The 2017 Kawasaki z250 that my mother got me as a present for my birthday had been my partner for a long time now, it was wrapped in crimson red and had stickers all over it inspired by the iconic bike from Akira. The thought of leaving my beloved bike made me feel remorse about the decision that I have made, but then I thought "it's just a bike." On that Sunday morning though, thinking that this would be my last day to experience living in this world, I made the decision to take the MRT instead, where for the last time I could see the city and observe the people living in it. On Sundays, the MRT are usually not that crowded, so I would be able to enjoy the ride instead of being sandwiched by sweaty people going to work.
The scene on the MRT was more-or-less the same as I had expected it to be. Though it was not crowded, it still felt lively. From where I was sitting, to my right there was a pair of old couples with their eyes glued to the window mesmerized and making comments about how the city have changed drastically, they were looking at the scenery so passionately with their nostalgic gaze that I could even see what the city used to look like from their eyes. To my left there was a man that looked a bit older than me, that dressed like he was going to a job interview. The man was holding a phone to his face, and from the phone, I was able to hear the voice of a woman and a baby faintly making noises. Though I did not know the man, I always respect a person that would put in the work for their family, especially on a Sunday like this.
As I was observing the man suddenly a burst of laughter broke out from the row in front of him. There was a group of teenagers, maybe slightly younger than I was. From the look of it, it seemed like they were heading to the skate park. Two of them were clutching their skateboards to their chest, and one of them was holding a camera. Seeing them enjoying each other company made me feel a pang of regret. All my memories of spending the weekends were filled with nothing but solitude. Rather than going out to parks together like they now do, most of my weekends were spent on wandering alone and reading books at coffee shops that I passed by. Now, sitting there looking at them smiling, laughing, and filling the train with their laughter and joy, made me regret that I never tried to do something about it. But then again, it would probably never have worked anyway.
The coffee shop was not far from the station, as a matter of fact, it was only a five minutes' walk away. Entering the place and seeing the familiar room filled my mind with nostalgia. The aroma of fresh coffee, the sound of books being turned around, and the sound of keyboards clicking all seem too familiar. That coffee shop had always been my safe-heaven. Though I like to wander around most times on weekends, that was the go-to place for me. It is a simple yet elegant coffee shop that had a welcoming vibe to it. And because I had been there quite a lot, I was well acquainted with some of the baristas and the owner. The owner of that coffee shop was Tasya, she was seven years older than I was. A curious thing about her I thought was that she dropped out of college to pursue her passion for making coffee, and it eventually led her to establish that coffee shop. But that time she was nowhere to be seen.
After picking up my usual order, I headed over to the smoking area where I usually sit in the back end where there were fewer noises. In the smoking area, there was one other person besides me, though they were sitting on the opposite side from where I was. I sat there and started immersing myself in my book, sometimes I would take a break and lit up a cigarette. My mother would've had scolded me if she had been here. She for one does not like to see me smoking. To be fair though, it was probably the only bad habit that I harbor if you didn't count drinking coffee as one.
Literature had been my sanctuary for as long as I could remember, every time I opened a book, it felt as if I were jumping into new worlds, and all the worries of the real ones vanished in thin air. Whenever I was reading a book I always got so absorbed, now that I think about it, it was also another bad habit that I have probably, getting too absorbed in books until I was not aware of my surroundings. Flipping through the pages made me feel like the words were covering my eyes and ears, I was also enveloped by the comfort of the place. This sensation is the reason why I often go there a lot. Though sometimes the baristas would throw some jokes about how I was always by myself.
"You got a good taste in books," Said a voice from the opposite side of the place. The voice was soft but sharp enough to penetrate the words that had been covering me. I looked away from the page, and over to the source of the voice. There, a girl that looks about my age was sitting by herself. her hair was dark as the night and cut short enough to hang a little bit below the ear. She wore a grey and a rather slim sweater that suited her feminine figure. Covering her legs was a pair of light-colored jeans and a pair of white vans to complete the outfit. She was accompanied by a laptop, a heap of books and papers, and a pack of cigarettes. As I was observing her table, I moved my eyes to her face, then I realized that she had been following my eyes the whole time with a smile on her lips.