January 24th 2016

January 24th 2016
The screen lit up, and she swiped her index finger across it.
Her eyes smiled back to the message.
She typed something, and then called for the waiter.
“Could I have the breakfast smoothie, please,” she said with a Spanish accent.
Sipping his black coffee, he found himself unable to return to his tablet and the screenplay treatment; he wanted to know who the Spaniard was waiting for.
Half a smoothie later, the door opened, and a middle-aged chap rushed in.
He scanned the room, looking for someone; he went past her table once, before backtracking.
“Hello, I am really sorry to be late,” he said, as he took off his dark coat.
“It’s OK; I was just texting.”
Neither of them seemed to be focuses on what was being said; they both were studying one another. Perhaps, this was their first face to face meeting.
The arrival of the menus provided a welcome diversion from the intensity of the moment.
As the food arrived, and the young lady took a photo – “it’s for my mother, so she believes me when I tell her I don’t eat junk food!” – the man absentmindedly touched the dark coat.
Sensing his wandering mind, she toyed with her jet black hair.
From his table, he could feel the thoughts swirling randomly in the other man’s head.
“I think I am way too old for you,” was the only thing he could say.
Surprised, she attempted to defuse the situation. “I didn’t look at your age.”
“But we can be friends,” he added, as if reading from a prepared text.
She didn’t appear particularly hurt, or disappointed; she wished for the breakfast to end on good terms.
“If you have time, try the XYZ for coffee; I spend hours there, just reading and people-watching,” she said, almost consoling him for the end of something before it had even begun.
As they headed in opposite directions, he glanced towards their now empty table, and went back to the screenplay.
Peace and love,
Ja’far
January 24th 2016
The screen lit up, and she swiped her index finger across it.
Her eyes smiled back to the message.
She typed something, and then called for the waiter.
“Could I have the breakfast smoothie, please,” she said with a Spanish accent.
Sipping his black coffee, he found himself unable to return to his tablet and the screenplay treatment; he wanted to know who the Spaniard was waiting for.
Half a smoothie later, the door opened, and a middle-aged chap rushed in.
He scanned the room, looking for someone; he went past her table once, before backtracking.
“Hello, I am really sorry to be late,” he said, as he took off his dark coat.
“It’s OK; I was just texting.”
Neither of them seemed to be focuses on what was being said; they both were studying one another. Perhaps, this was their first face to face meeting.
The arrival of the menus provided a welcome diversion from the intensity of the moment.
As the food arrived, and the young lady took a photo – “it’s for my mother, so she believes me when I tell her I don’t eat junk food!” – the man absentmindedly touched the dark coat.
Sensing his wandering mind, she toyed with her jet black hair.
From his table, he could feel the thoughts swirling randomly in the other man’s head.
“I think I am way too old for you,” was the only thing he could say.
Surprised, she attempted to defuse the situation. “I didn’t look at your age.”
“But we can be friends,” he added, as if reading from a prepared text.
She didn’t appear particularly hurt, or disappointed; she wished for the breakfast to end on good terms.
“If you have time, try the XYZ for coffee; I spend hours there, just reading and people-watching,” she said, almost consoling him for the end of something before it had even begun.
As they headed in opposite directions, he glanced towards their now empty table, and went back to the screenplay.
Peace and love,
Ja’far
6

The screen lit up, and she swiped her index finger across it.

Her eyes smiled back to the message.

She typed something, and then called for the waiter.

“Could I have the breakfast smoothie, please,” she said with a Spanish accent.

Sipping his black coffee, he found himself unable to return to his tablet and the screenplay treatment; he wanted to know who the Spaniard was waiting for.

Half a smoothie later, the door opened, and a middle-aged chap rushed in.

He scanned the room, looking for someone; he went past her table once, before backtracking.

“Hello, I am really sorry to be late,” he said, as he took off his dark coat.

“It’s OK; I was just texting.”

Neither of them seemed to be focuses on what was being said; they both were studying one another. Perhaps, this was their first face to face meeting.

The arrival of the menus provided a welcome diversion from the intensity of the moment.

As the food arrived, and the young lady took a photo – “it’s for my mother, so she believes me when I tell her I don’t eat junk food!” – the man absentmindedly touched the dark coat.

Sensing his wandering mind, she toyed with her jet black hair.

From his table, he could feel the thoughts swirling randomly in the other man’s head.

“I think I am way too old for you,” was the only thing he could say.

Surprised, she attempted to defuse the situation. “I didn’t look at your age.”

“But we can be friends,” he added, as if reading from a prepared text.

She didn’t appear particularly hurt, or disappointed; she wished for the breakfast to end on good terms.

“If you have time, try the XYZ for coffee; I spend hours there, just reading and people-watching,” she said, almost consoling him for the end of something before it had even begun.

As they headed in opposite directions, he glanced towards their now empty table, and went back to the screenplay.

Peace and love,

Ja’far

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