Misha walks up to the cobbled path under the streetlights to get to her favourite coffee shop. The red coloured signage spelling Coffee at turns sparkling bright and sharp in midnight, inviting university students to find solace in this cold winter weather.
She opens the red portico style door and the door chimes, announcing her arrival in the cafe, she is a little late than her usual days today. Several students sit in winter coats and denim jackets, some in groups of three and four, and of course, the highly privileged love birds in pairs. The best thing about this cafe was when you entered it didn't feel like the midnight of winter. From where she came, she was used to quiet so long, that she found it oddly satisfying to see red vinyl booths filled with students chattering as if it were the middle of day. It was better than the quiet of the dorm, she had started to abhor.
Her dorm room was fine, it wasn't as if it was filled with cockroaches or it was too dull. It was as colourful as she would like it to be, even a little spacious, which wasn't usual for other students, but for her was, because she got the scholarship. But something in her didn't quite like the space, couldn't spare more than an hour to be there if she was not sleeping. Her concentration filed away as soon as she stepped into her room. The room gnawed like fingers inside her, and she started to feel her hands dampen, and her heart beat too loud, so she preferred to stay outdoors, because it gave her a sense of calm.
She makes her way to the farthest booth, greeting the part-time worker Sammy with a nod, a pink and black haired girl that worked in the night and studied at the History department for her doctorate during the day. She liked Sammy because she didn't ask Misha why was she there every midnight, she just came to Misha's table and told her about the today's special which was usually crappy and overpriced and then whispered to Misha that she would be better off with carrot waffle and ice cream.
Misha sits on the booth that gives her the view of the doors, another habit she has partaken in a year in Delhi and Sammy makes way to her in less than five minutes in a pink t-shirt that says, Waffler for life, which is pretty ironic as Misha knows the real meaning behind the t-shirt, considering the fact that Misha was gifted one of those in blue colour on her birthday this year, she is glad that at least she has a friend in this big city full of strangers, yes, she is one of those who has a hard time making friends or honestly even talking.
"What would you like Marshall, today's special is Hamburger and pancakes" Sammy taps the pen on the black clipboard she is carrying, and calls Misha by her nickname, which makes her feel a little less lonely and a little more amiable towards Sammy. "Though that combination is ridiculous," she rolls her eyes and leans in conspirationally, "and carrot waffle with vanilla ice cream is the best."
Misha smiles, a thing she doesn't do often these days, and holds the sticky laminated menu in her hand, without glancing at it, she says, "I would like the cold cappuccino with no cream and lots of sugar please."
Sammy groans and stomps her foot catching the attention of several nerdy students lurking in the corner actually studying, Sammy glares at the boy with the horn rimmed glasses, who blushes to a deep root red and then stuffs his face in an upside down book, before realising and blushing to another shade of red and holding the book correctly, Sammy grunts and turns to Misha pointing a threatening finger in her direction, reminding her of Mitzi warmly. "One of these days, I am going to shove a carrot waffle down your throat, and you are going to gulp it with a glass of vanilla melted ice cream."
Misha cringes at the thought and then folds up her hand on the cream table. "You should offer the carrot waffle and the ice cream thing on that table," she points her fingers towards the boy with horn rimmed glasses, and sees him fidgeting on the table, his ears visibly perk up red and he pushes his face even more closer to the book. Misha is sure the only thing he is inhaling right now, is the inky smell of the book.
Sammy glares at her direction with a loathing of a snake's venom, and turns away from the table, stomping away back to the red and neon counter. Misha has been seeing this ordeal for a year now, and she is sure, one of these days she is going to see those two suck each other's face. She has asked Sammy, about the boy.
And all Sammy says to her is, 'He thinks he can handle me, he can't. Look at all these books he reads and the maniac way he solves math problems I am sure NASA will be calling him and he will be off to the land of his dreams, he sure as hell can't handle me."
Misha didn't ask, how Sammy got to know so much about the boy, but she knew Sammy was correct about the NASA part. Unfortunately, she had participated with her senior, famously known as the mathematical prodigy around the campus, and otherwise Idhant, in some of the interactive clubs in her freshman year, and was paired with him once in a math riddle competition, and all it took for him was seven minutes to gain them victory, while Misha was still reading the riddles. He had seen Misha with Sammy after that several times, and Misha was ashamed to tell Sammy that she had taken leverage of her friend's name to gain some much needed math tuitions from her senior sitting one booth away, though she maintained her loyalty and never spoke a word about her friend's opinion to her senior who constantly nudged her for it.
Misha was sure some intentional pushing didn't count as being a traitor, did it? What she could do? Desperate times called for desperate measure.
She checks to see Sammy isn't looking and is busy in cutting the bills at the counter when she sends a secret thumbs up in the direction of her senior who hides even more inside his book.
And then, she turns to her bag to finally take out the heavy books and notebook that needed her desperate attention otherwise she was going to fail this semester, the bell chimes, and her hand stops on the zipper her eyes moving to the door habitually, her heart hammers straight from her chest to her throat to the long legs that walk inside at the entrance of the cafe.
She could recognize the messy brown hair and the black gold eyes that strokes straight at her from the entrance and she freezes. He walks inside, his eyes still at her, and she thinks she's having a heart attack. She doesn't know what do with her hands or herself. Her heart is gyrating inside her and she has forgotten how to breathe.