The street outside was bustling with people, dresses and poofy pants fluttering in the wind. Gravel crunched under feet and mouths shouted about miscellaneous sales and items. Cats scampered across the road, avoiding busy feet and even busier wagons. I sat in the same seat as always, in the same coffeehouse I loved: the one decorated with beautiful pink camellias and forget me nots. Well-maintained yet overgrown, a beautiful cottage that was always buzzing with customers. A clock slowly ticked in the background, faintly but not quietly enough to go unperceived. Tea in hand, I started flipping through my book until my finger laid on the same page I always got stuck on. With that displeasing stain that covered the entire page. It smelled of sweet flowers still, the tea we always made together. That day stained my memory like the tea stained the page, bittersweet like the taste of hibiscus tea and dark chocolate. 

Light trickled in through the window in hues of pink and orange, lighting up what was otherwise a plain bedroom. Shelves were littered with books decorated one wall of the room, the other a closet with minimal clothing and the next with a bed. Pillows were scattered across the bed, differing shades of purple and blue. The sheets were an off-white, fluffy cotton. I sunk into the sheets.

Ailee was braiding her titanium-blonde hair, as she always would when she was bored. Her smudged eyeliner and dark eyes did not help in making her seem less tired than she actually was. She was always bored. She grew tired of books and writing so quickly it was almost like a skill she had developed. But, she listened when I read, which always made me happy. Emerson, on the other hand, could not sit still for even a second. He was particularly squirmy that day, asking if the story was over every second. Yet he could read twenty books by himself in one day and not be bored. I never quite understood him, but it was interesting to watch.

“Please tell me you’re done,” He whined, rocking back and forth on the wooly carpet. His hands were on his knees, tapping feverishly. His caramel curls bounced in tune with him. I laughed lightly.

“There’s still at least fifty pages, Em.” He groaned and Ailee laughed. She shifted to braid his hair and he relaxed a little. I placed the book down, still open, and picked up the china kettle slowly. 

“How about you grab some more chocolate and Ailee and I brew more tea. I could use a break from reading,” Emerson was out the door before I was even finished, Ailee left stunned with her hands still positioned to braid his hair. She shook her head and stood, picking up the tray of cups and empty plates. She glanced at me then went to hold open the door.

“Ladies first,” She smiled as I walked past, moving into the small kitchenette where Emerson was raiding the pantry for any chocolate he could find. I got more water to boil and set a kettle on the stove for the tea. Ailee was helping Emerson organize the chocolate in an appealing way, pestering him about specific formations and foods touching one another.

“You can’t put cheese that close to the chocolate! I don’t even know why I let you add cheese,” Ailee gently kept rearranging the plate while Em fidgeted with their sleeves. I just laughed, eagerly awaiting the whistle of the kettle to alert me to fresh tea. 

My attention was drawn more to the ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner. Pacing like a jungle cat. I watched as the pendulum danced, shifting back and forth like a busy road. A high pitched shriek filled my head as I turned back to the tea kettle. Their petty banter echoed in the back of my ears as I removed the kettle from the stove and poured the boiling water into the tea pot. I scattered fresh tea leaves in and a floral scent scattered in the air like a magnolia tree’s petals in spring. Suddenly both of my annoyed friends were very focused and had come to an agreement with the food arrangements.

I set the tea pot on the tree and we moved back into the comfort of my room. Emerson fell to the floor, sinking into the fluffy carpet. I laid the tray next to him and sat against my bed, Ailee following suit. She looked at me, her eyes darting from mine to the book that still laid on the ground. I laughed and picked it up, tracing the grainy page with my finger until I found where we had left off. I starting reading again and noticed how restless Emerson already was. He made no effort to hide it.

“I’m really going to miss this,” I froze in my words, setting the book down to look at him. Emerson smiled faintly. “As boring as it is to listen to you, it’s something I won’t forget.”

“We’re not dying, we’re just moving on in life,” Ailee trailed off, her hair twirling between her fingers. She grabbed a piece of chocolate and looked at me, encouraging me to keep reading.

“No, I want to talk about this, what happens if we never see each other again?” He sat up, his legs folding into a criss-cross formation as he leaned towards Ailee and I.

“We’ll see each other plenty, it’s not like we’re going to just abandon each other,” Ailee let out a shuddering laugh. The room went silent and the clock tip toed its way back into my head, taunting me as the two of them went on and on about our futures when we wouldn’t be together consistently. Deciphering ways to keep in contact when it’s already difficult seeing each other with our schedules. I heard my name faintly called and I looked at Emerson. His crystal blue eyes casting my completely unengaged reflection.

“All you do is read around us, do you even care that we’re all moving?” I glanced at my hands which were suddenly cold. Usually I felt pretty confident about everything, but our future? That was one thing I could never understand.

“I don’t know.” I didn’t look back up. I didn’t want to. Ailee’s hand grasped mine and she sternly turned to Emerson.

“Of course she cares, Em, she’s just as scared as we are.”

“Then why won’t she say anything?” His hand swiped his tea cup, which splattered the tray and book with tea. We all scrambled to clean up the spill before it reached the rug, and made a decent effort to try the page. It had already done it’s damage, as the tea feather out across the page. The inked smeared lightly, leaving a few of the words barely intelligible.

For a while, Emerson froze. His breaths shook in way I had never witnessed before, and his arms began to stiffen at his side. He watched as I put my best effort into drying the page before it curled up too much, and I thought I saw him flinch his hand toward me to help. But he stayed frozen, eyes twitching back and forth between the cup and the book, soaking in the damage he cause like the pages I had held beneath my hands.

Ailee was busy making sure the china didn’t shatter and that the rug was clean. Her hand met Em’s shoulder; a simple sign of comfort, a way of saying she didn’t blame him. But she stepped away before he replied, before he could argue that is was his fault. Her gaze never met either of us.

The tea stained the mood in the air, a dark cloud that blocked the sun from breaking through. It trickled unease and discomfort in the air like a storm, rapidly flooding what was once a sanctuary. Each new conversation ended quicker than the previous, and it felt as though we were all strangers for a moment.

Emerson left silently, apologizing for the ruined book but understandably upset about the interaction and discussions of the evening. Ailee shortly followed, but not without a tight a hug. I stared at the door and wrinkled book in my hands.

I swore I’d never finish that book. Not until we saw each other again. And so I sat at the same coffeehouse I would every morning, scanning each passerby for any sign of them. Caramel curls and clear blue eyes, titanium braids and eyes the same shade as dark chocolate. A bouncing leg or twirling of hair.

The clock continued to tick in the background as the street started to calm down, the ringing of the cottage door reverberating across every wall. I looked at the door with hope and sighed as I watched a stranger walk to the counter. I closed my eyes, leaning back and praying that I’d see them again. Our lives had become untangled when I so badly yearned for them to be tangled again.

If only a fantasy could be my reality.

I stared at the book, still opened to that page, and pressed on. I finally flipped the page and breathed.