Nearly two weeks have elapsed and the beautiful lady has visited this café every single day without fail, always coming in at exactly 8:50pm. Every single day, she seemed to be more stunning that the previous day, I might be wrong though because these are just the views of a silly and deluded man. Every single day she has sat on the same table, except that one time when she found her table occupied by some other stranger woman and she had to settle for another table further away.
I suddenly developed a dislike for the stranger woman who was at the beautiful lady's table. Her presence at the table meant I would struggle through the evening trying to catch a glimpse of the beautiful lady.
For the past week, she has caught me staring at her every single day. Twice I saw her smile and look down on her MacBook, I do not know if she was smiling at me or something or other. I thought of those two instances for hours, trying to come up with the best assumption of what could have caused her to smile so beautifully. It surely can't be because of me, for I am a silly man, and silly men cannot make beautiful ladies smile like that.
For the past week, my reading pace has drastically declined, I was a quick reader, devouring a book in 3 or 4 days, but ever since she started frequenting this cozy café, I take well over 5 days. I attribute this to my mind always being distracted with thoughts about the lady siting a table away from me working on her Mac. Sometimes I wonder if she ever thinks about me, and if she does, - A very big if- what does she think of me? I quickly discard these thoughts as they are just the thoughts of a silly deluded man, and it is near impossible for someone like her to think about someone like me. But what if she did? What could she possibly think about the man siting in the corner booth, scarf around his neck, some book in hand drinking his coffee with a slightly warm croissant? Although I suppose she wouldn't know about the croissant.
I have long given up on trying to figure our what she could be thinking, for this lady is a mystery to me.
Many times the thought of saying 'hello' to her or something simpler like a wave has crossed my mind but I never did anything about them. This is because I have this paralyzing fear of making a fool out of myself. Say I do wave at her and she doesn't respond? What then? I would have embarrassed myself in front of so many people. And in the following days, all the regulars of this fine café will talk and laugh about the silly man who sits forever alone in the corner booth. Laugh at how silly he is for waving at a beautiful stranger lady and expect a wave back or some other sort of response. How terribly silly of him.
And so I never did anything, never waved, never made an effort to acquaint myself to her, just stared and admired her. That is enough for me, for I am a simple man, and simple things like staring at a beautiful lady satisfy simple men.
HER POV:
It's been nearly two weeks, 14 days of me visiting this café, and I promise you it is not because they serve the best coffee in this big city. It's because this stranger sad man intrigues me. If I were to say that I visit this café everyday just to get a glimpse of him, I would sound like a stalker, which I am not. -Believe me-. And so I say I come here for the magnificent ambience, or how the French say it, magnifique ambiance. I come for the rich coffee scent in the air and the tranquil atmosphere to finish up some work from the office.
If one was to ask me what exactly piques my interest in this man, I wouldn't have an answer for them, because he is just an ordinary man, nothing peculiar about him. He is a fairly built man, pretty good body structure, broad shoulders but not too broad, his arms are fairly muscular arms, the shape of his face was pretty decent to look at, everything was perfectly balanced. I've seen him standing a few times and he is of fairly good height, about a foot taller than I am. He also dressed pretty decently, although saying decent is doing him an injustice, the man dressed amazing. Knew how to perfectly coordinate colors, everything was always on point, nothing looking or feeling misplaced. These are just some of the observations of a simple lady, mayhap there are other things I was blind to.
All this to say, there is nothing peculiar about this fine gent, nothing to pique my interest enough for me to visit this place all those weeks in a row. But there I was, every single day without fail, and there he always was, everyday without fail. Always with a book in hand, slowly reading through a he sipped what I assume to be coffee and a croissant. Everyday without fail, I would catch him looking my way, he would then turn his head either to the window or to his book and pretend he was reading.
Often, I find myself with a smile as I watch all of this unfold, it's too amusing. Often, I find myself staring at him, when he is deeply engrossed in his reading. I watch how he meticulously runs his eyes from end to end and flips the page, how he unconsciously picks up the coffee and takes a sip, all with his eyes glued to the book. Somehow I always manage to look away before he notices.
In all the days I've visited this café, the sad stranger man at the corner booth has never said anything to me, not even a simple "hello" or a wave of his hand. I find this very strange, I assume that after all those days of me catching him staring, he would have mustered the courage to say something. But no, he just kept by himself, read his book and drank his coffee, when the clock hit 10pm, he paid his bill and made his exit from the café.
I would leave soon after.