Chapter 1: Bitter Beginnings

Kafka tugged at the sleeves of her cozy cardigan, a mix of excitement and nerves buzzing in her chest. It was only her seventh day running The Brewed Haven, her dream café on Madison Avenue, a street renowned for its array of luxury shops and upscale boutiques. Nestled between high-end retailers, her café aimed to offer a warm, inviting respite from the bustling city.

The aroma of freshly ground coffee beans mingled with the faint scent of vanilla and cinnamon as she opened the front door and flipped the sign to “Open.” The sun had just begun to rise, casting a golden glow through the large floor to ceiling front windows and illuminating the exposed brick walls and vintage wooden furniture inside. She carefully put the menu board on the right side of the cafe's french door where passersby will surely notice the “Today’s Special: Caramel Latte and Blueberry cream filled Croissant” written in pink chalk and some cute illustrations she added to fill the space of the board.

‘It’ll be a great day today, like yesterday and the day before and of course, tomorrow will be as fulfilling.’ she recited in her mind.

Kafka had poured her heart into this place, creating a space where people could relax and enjoy a good cup of coffee and delicious pastries. Her faded blue jeans and cardigan contrasted with the sleek, modern outfits of the high-end shoppers outside, but she didn’t mind. This was her haven, her dream come true. Her HOME.

By nine in the morning, the café was already buzzing with activity. A steady stream of customers flowed in and out, each bringing their own stories and quirks to the little corner of the world she had created. She moved effortlessly between the counter and the tables, taking orders, chatting with regulars, and ensuring everything ran smoothly.

One of her regulars, a man in his sixties who dressed like a butler, entered the café. His formal suit and polished demeanor stood out against the casual vibe of The Brewed Haven. Kafka greeted him with a warm smile.

“Good morning, sir. The usual?” she asked, already reaching for a cup.

“Yes, please,” he replied with a nod. “Seven shots, no sugar.”

Kafka’s smile widened. She enjoyed the challenge of preparing his strong, no-nonsense coffee. It was a small way of making his day a bit better. She began by grinding the coffee beans after weighting it at exactly 56 grams. It’s a lot of coffee for one person but she’s not that surprised unlike the first time the old gentleman walked in and ordered ‘seven shots’ of espresso and it took her a brief moment, dazed, before uttering a “Seven shots, sir? Did I hear that right?” and the man would just nod with a barely visible curve in his mouth, amuse, surely. Seven shots, imagine, it never ceases to amaze her. She then masterfully transferred the ground coffee to a portafilter and carefully tapped it twice on the counter to even top before she used a tamper to compress the coffee grounds evenly in the portafilter. Finally, the most satisfying part of the process, EXTRACTING. She inserted the portafilter into the group head of the espresso machine and locked it in place securely. She just needs to do it six more times in a single order. Well, it wasn’t so bad. Inhaling the thick aroma of the espresso is her best reward after such a long process of preparing one. It sure sends her to her favorite memory of her dad, when he would make his coffee the same way. She loved the strong smell, the lingering aroma of coffee and her dad, she loved her dad and she missed him everyday. That is how her passion ignited. Every coffee she makes reminds her of her father's relaxed expression after a sip.

However, as the morning rush picked up, Kafka found herself juggling multiple orders at once. In the flurry of activity, she prepared the butler’s coffee but accidentally added a splash of sugar. She didn’t realize her mistake until he had already left. It was a beautiful mistake, she would later realize.

A few minutes later, the door to the café swung open with a force that startled everyone inside. A tall man in his early thirties stormed in, his impeccably tailored suit and piercing blue eyes commanding attention. Some locks of his curly short hair strayed out his perfect face, looking so handsomely furious, irritated, she guessed by how he almost broke the glass of her cafe’s french doors. Kafka recognized him immediately—Greed, the owner of the luxury tailoring shop across the street, Die Böse Jungen. His reputation for precision and high standards preceded him.

Greed’s expression was a storm of irritation as he approached the counter, holding the butler’s coffee cup. “Excuse me,” he said, his voice sharp. “This coffee is supposed to have no sugar.”

Kafka felt a flush of embarrassment creep up her neck. “I’m so sorry,” she stammered. “It must have been a mistake. Let me make a new one for you.”

The café had fallen silent, all eyes on the unfolding scene. Kafka felt the weight of their gazes as she quickly prepared a new cup, this time making sure to follow the order exactly. Her hands trembled slightly as she handed the cup to Greed.

“Here you go. Seven shots, no sugar,” she said, forcing a smile.

Greed took the cup and nodded curtly. “Thank you. Next time, please be more attentive.”

With that, he turned and left, leaving Kafka standing there, feeling humiliated in her own café. The customers gradually returned to their conversations, but Kafka couldn’t shake the embarrassment. Also, she was surprised by how polite she sounded, how almost submissive, she hated it, maybe. Usually, she would trade a barb or two to rude people, be it a customer or a governor she doesn't give a single fuck. Thankfully, she never encountered one before ever since she opened The Brewed Haven, but to those who dare test her patience she'd throw fist if not insults back at them. Her dad taught her to fight back, her dad is not like other dads. He would tell her to fight back wrong or right. It's funny, because in front of Greed, she's not the tough Kafka her dad built her to be but a small coffee bean spilled out of the counter and down onto the floor. Greed has this superior air to him like an emperor, when he declares, with his stern deep, commanding voice, no man dares to question, not even dad-built-tough-Kafka. Alright, she was just probably surprised with his sudden visit. She never imagined their first meeting would be her, accidentally adding sugar to his SEVEN SHOTS of espresso, embarrassing, really embarrassing. Who would put sugar into their seven shots of espresso, might as well order a latte. Embarrassing. Greed might think of her as insensitive, she grieves on the idea of Greed thinking she was purposefully making fun of him.

And, ‘first impression lasts.’ she grieves.