3 Beautiful Disaster

I looked at him as I slowly stirred a cup of coffee Jacob ordered from the shop.

The shop's like a deserted ghost town with only him and me and the baristas as the town's population. Art galleries of unknown and known painters cover the walls, with an almost-expensive chandelier hanged atop. The atmosphere would not make you feel as if you're the only man living on a deserted place but a paradise island.

Jacob sat across me, taking a sip here and there. He's somehow enjoying my company after asking me to go here. He insisted as much as he can until there was nothing to budge left in me. And I followed him like a lonesome lunatic.

"Have you been to any coffee shops before, by chance?" He asked before taking another sip. The fragrance was too strong that distance wouldn't be a problem. It was unordinary for him to drink coffee, let alone enjoy caffeine. It was unordinary for me to follow him, let alone be swayed by his temptations for a fine drink.

"I have," I said while looking outside the store. The moon shone ever so brightly that its shine covered the whole road.

"Didn't you say that you don't explore that much?" He said in a monotonous, gleeful tone. The pen he bought for me placed beside his dying phone, an arm-length away from me. I could easily grab and go, run away, and never look back. A potential of another goodbye for another time.

"Well... I had." I said as I looked at him with a seemingly broken smile. I took another sip of my coffee, thinking it could drown even the smallest of regrets that I still hold on to.

It did not.

It was more than bitter and less than sweet, but the sugar slowly overpowers the former on every ounce and drip.

I don't know if it's because of the coffee as I abruptly became restless. I would look at him every now and then. He would sometimes catch me looking at him and make this small smile on his face while I simply look away, only to be pulled by an unseen force to look at him one more time.

And the more I look at him, the more I observed. The more I observed, the more I analyzed. And the more he takes a sip of his coffee, the more I can certainly see that he's wearing a silver ring.

Before I was conscious of it happening, something inside me overflowed. And it drowned something else other than the regrets and sorrows.

"Jacob, how did you know it's me?"

He suddenly stopped sipping the sweet-flavored macchiato he ordered. Putting the cup on the table, he pierced his eyes through my soul and delivered flustered words. His composure was broken on a mere question, my question. And little more would finally push him back.

"What do you mean?" He said. I could sense his arms slightly shaking. I could sense my heart beating.

"Well, I mean you..." I let out a long sigh. "You even knew what kind of coffee I'd like to drink without even asking me first." It was an odd starter, but it's what I had to ask first. A cup of filtered water with brewed fined-ground coffee beans, incorporated with a hint of milk, a cube of sugar, with a small dash of creamy foam on top. It was perfect for my kind of taste.

Too perfect.

Too similar.

Too familiar.

"You mean how I know you're the writer of one of the most famous books now in the region?" He said. The hesitation in his voice was noticeable enough to penetrate my ears.

"You could... say that."

"Do you consider me as being a fan of your works?" He asked. His eyes gazed upon mine as if we were in a Western-style gun-slinging match. A blink for a second felt like years had gone by.

"If you're saying you are, I might as well thank you," I said, dropping my cup of coffee on the side. "But you didn't have to do this sort of thing." I continued as humbly as I could, averting his observations.

I took a sip away from the coffee once more, fidgeting like a complete maniac by his response while wearing a not-so-wide smile.

"I've seen you on some television shows. I had also read articles about you. And when I saw in the station, of course, I'd be flabbergasted to mee-"

"Really now? That's kind of bold coming from a stranger." Without a doubt, I somewhat let out an embarrassing giggle. He noticed as face slightly flushed. 

"Why? I was just very curious, you know." His voice started cracking but still understandable. "And I wanted to know more about you, so I searched the internet only to find some vague answers."

"That's what you get for looking up in unsupported sources. What did the articles say about me?" I can't ignore the fact that I smiled genuinely in front of him. He was still as clumsy as I was as ever, something I couldn't erase away so easily.

"Just some random and sophisticated stuff. Stuff that readers like me can't put into words really well." He said. "I envy you for your kind of talent." A barista came to place a perfectly cut cheesecake in the middle of the table. He stopped for a moment, yet our gazes still met half-way. He seemed to have calmed down after that brief intermission.

"You shouldn't," I said. The solemn sound of my voice filled the space between us. "You know you shouldn't."

"I've been reading countless books, and none of them compared to what you write and create. Every piece is like puzzles that you have to put together, and when you've done it, like an oil painting on a canvass waiting to be put on national museums."

"You're being too much." He really was being too much. I could feel my face turning red. "I won't take credit for everything I've done, but again, thank you if you think like that. There are some talents I don't have that you have, you know? Everyone's special in their own way."

I took another sip of my coffee to hide my face. His indirect "compliments" would really get me in trouble.

Deep trouble.

"I guess you're right about that. Just like the works you do, people have their own colors. But I think yours is really special. I believe you make people who read your works think about what they haven't thought about and feel things they haven't felt before. Even I can't put them into words."

And there have gone, my cheeks, the warmest Summer in the coldest of a Winter night. He saw the sudden blush and drank his coffee like it was liquor. Down to his drain, it went. I wondered if it also drowned something inside him.

"Anyway," Jacob cleared his throat. "Why won't you go to libraries? I'm sure there's plenty of references there for you to use efficiently." He suddenly asked. He must have noticed the quick intervals of how I drink my coffee.

What a disaster.

A beautiful disaster.