A Glimpse of Yo
The café sat nestled on a quiet, cobblestone street, its exterior adorned with weathered bricks and ivy creeping up the sides. The wooden door, chipped at the edges, creaked softly as it opened, inviting you into its warm embrace. Inside, the faint scent of coffee beans and aged wood lingered in the air, mingling with the soft aroma of cinnamon and baked bread that had long since cooled.
The space was dimly lit by antique brass sconces on the walls, casting a gentle glow that made the room feel smaller, cozier. Mismatched wooden chairs and tables, each with their own scuffs and marks from years of use, were scattered across the floor. The large bay window at the front let in the soft, golden light of the late afternoon, bathing the room in a nostalgic hue. Dust motes danced lazily in the beams of sunlight.
In the far corner, a faded velvet armchair sat next to a small fireplace, its hearth cold and dark now, but once a place for crackling warmth on rainy afternoons. Shelves along the walls held an assortment of old books, their spines cracked and colors faded, as if waiting for someone to sit down and flip through their yellowed pages once more.
Behind the counter, a vintage espresso machine sat dormant, its once gleaming chrome dulled with time, while ceramic mugs lined a shelf above, chipped and well-loved. The faint hum of a distant radio played old jazz tunes, adding to the timeless feel of the place.
Though the café was empty now, it still felt alive, as if it held the echoes of conversations, laughter, and quiet moments shared over the years, waiting patiently for the next soul to walk through its doors.
"Who's that?" A familiar voice resonated around the café. I had been waiting for this voice.
Turning around, I saw her standing by the staircase, the woman I had met just once before on a bench outside the café. Her face hinted confusion. However, as her eyes contacted mine there was a spark of surprise.
She walked over with a grace that was both commanding and effortless, her every step exuding confidence. As she took the seat across from me, her eyes flicked towards the other employees, a silent exchange passing between them—signals that only they seemed to understand, as if she was orchestrating their movements without a word.
The girl who had bloodied my nose stepped forward, explaining the situation to her. Snowflake nodded in acknowledgment, her expression unreadable. After a brief, regretful glance in my direction, the girl who'd hit me slipped out of the café, leaving me with a sense of unease.
Meanwhile, Snowflake's eyes remained fixed on me, sharp and piercing, as though they could see right through me. I shifted in my seat, feeling their weight, my discomfort growing.
"Uh, hi, I'm Aubrey," I finally managed to say, the awkwardness in my voice betraying me. Emma stayed silent, her gaze unwavering. It wasn't until the man who had beckoned me into the café returned, holding an ice pack, that she broke the silence.
"I'm Emma," she said, her voice smooth but with an edge that made it clear she was someone not to be taken lightly. The man, who had been so composed moments before, widened his eyes in surprise at her introduction.
"I'm Emmet," he added quickly, extending his hand to me with a friendly smile. I shook it, relieved by the gesture of normalcy. His other hand placed the ice pack gently on the table between us.
He gestured for me to use the ice pack, and I complied, pressing it gingerly against my throbbing nose. As I did, I noticed Emma and Emmet exchange a brief, knowing look before the young man disappeared into the staff room, leaving me alone with her.
"I'm sorry for what June did to you," Emma sighed, her voice carrying a trace of regret that softened the sharpness I'd first sensed.
Now that I was sitting so close, I could truly see her—ethereal in a way that made everything around her fade. Her features were delicate, almost too perfect, and I found myself wondering how she might smell, how her skin might feel beneath my fingertips. The thought was distracting, intoxicating.
"So, Aubrey, you're the painter who painted me the snowflake." Her smile was small but knowing as she gestured towards the wall where a framed painting of a snowflake hung.
Of course. Snowflake. The name suited her even more than the painting itself.
"You remember?" I asked, though it didn't really matter whether she did or not. Deep down, I had already decided that even if she had forgotten, I would make sure to engrave my name into her life, one way or another.
"I remember every single person I meet. My job kind of demands it," Emma shrugged, her eyes glinting with something unreadable.
I chuckled. "Oh, right. Working in a café, sure, that makes sense," I teased, though I sensed there was more to it.
She responded with a mischievous smile, her lips curling slightly as if she held a secret just out of reach. "So, Aubrey, when did you start painting? The way you drew back then had me convinced you were a professional artist."
Her words took me by surprise. I hadn't expected her to remember my painting so clearly. I smiled, leaning back in my chair as the conversation shifted. "It all started with nature, actually," I began, feeling a warmth build as I spoke. "I've always been drawn to the outdoors—the colors, the textures, the way everything is always in motion. I'd spend hours just watching the sky change, how the sunlight touched the trees. And, eventually, I had to capture it. First with pencils, then with paints. I guess it just grew from there, any opportunity I got, I'd turn it into something creative."
As I spoke, I noticed Emma was really listening. She wasn't just nodding along—she was absorbing every word, her eyes softening. There was something about the way she watched me, as though she understood. The usual distance people keep when talking about art, not really *getting* it, wasn't there. She seemed to feel it too.
The soft glow of the city lights outside flickered on, casting a gentle shimmer across the café window. The golden hues spilled onto our table, making the moment feel almost surreal, like we were in a little bubble of warmth and connection, sealed off from the world outside. The bustling city felt far away, a background hum to the quiet intimacy building between us.
Time seemed to blur, the conversation flowing effortlessly. We shared more stories—fragments of life, thoughts, and ideas. Every word pulled me deeper, and for a while, it felt as though the rest of the world didn't exist.
But eventually, Emma glanced at her watch, a faint flicker of regret crossing her face. "I should probably get going," she said, her voice reluctant, as if she, too, was hesitant to break the spell.
A pang of disappointment hit me, and I couldn't help but cling to the moment. "Emma," I repeated, tasting the sound of her name on my tongue, savoring it like it might keep her here just a bit longer. "It was really nice meeting you, Emma."
Her smile deepened, the warmth in her eyes still present. "Likewise, Aubrey. We'll see each other again, I'm sure."
As she stood up, there was a lingering sense of something unsaid, something she kept guarded, as if she had let me glimpse only a sliver of herself. When she stepped out of the café, disappearing into the soft glow of the city streets, I sat there for a moment, replaying our conversation.
It wasn't until I left the café myself that I realized something strange: Emma hadn't told me anything about her life. I had shared pieces of my story, snippets of the past that had shaped me, but she remained an enigma. It was like our entire conversation had been carefully steered toward me, as though she was gathering pieces of *my* life without offering any of hers in return.
Snowflake. That name suited her more than ever now, elusive and beautiful, drifting just out of reach. But I knew one thing for sure—I wasn't done with her yet. The next time our paths crossed, I'd make sure to learn more about the mystery behind those sharp, knowing eyes.