Abel continued staring
at the blank sheet of paper as the Irish Coffee lay beside him, the waft of the
air-conditioner cooling the whiskey-laden caffeine drink. He tried connecting
the thoughts in his head to coherent words on paper but he couldn’t get his pen
moving.
“Sir, would you like
anything with your Irish Coffee?” the waitress asked him in a gentle tone. Abel
looked up at her. She was wearing the Café Coffee Day attire, down to the white
apron. She had hazel eyes, a rarity in the city where Abel was used to seeing
just brown-eyed girls. Her hair was tied up in a neat bun, more to do so with
the job she had. He knew she would look more beautiful if she let her hair
open.
“I’d like some
inspiration,” he said, in a tired voice.
“Excuse me, sir?” the
waitress asked.
“Yes, inspiration,” he
said. “That’s what I need, uhm, Faye.” Her name was printed in bold black
letters on a white plate and pinned to her outfit.
“Er, but sir,” Faye
hesitated, “Inspiration isn’t served here.”
“Why not?” Abel
screamed. “I don’t think I’m the only person looking for it. I mean, many
people who come here must be asking for it, right?”
“Well, no sir,” Faye
said, quite enjoying the conversation. She looked up at the counter. Her two
colleagues were busy flirting in one corner. The shop was empty, save for two
businessmen discussing a future deal. And besides, Abel was handsome. Dressed
in jeans and a checkered rolled-up sleeved-shirt, he had a chiselled face. A
face that would suit an artist or a sculptor more than a writer, perhaps. “I’m
sure many people are looking for inspiration. I think the problem is that they
never ask.”
“Oh!” Abel said,
looking outside the window for a second and then at Faye in a disapproving tone,
“That’s a shame.”
Faye was surprised.
She had never met anyone so candid before. She sure had met a unique specimen
if anything else.
“Sir, would you like
anything else then, if not inspiration?” she asked again. She, after all, had a
job to do. “Your Irish Coffee has gone cold too.”
“Okay, you can do two
things. Actually, three.”
“And what would that
be, sir?” Faye said, quite curious now.
“Firstly, you can stop
calling me ‘sir’. My name’s Abel. Spelt A-B-E-L and not the way it is spelt in
table. Secondly, I’ll finish this coffee, but can you get me two more of the
same? And lastly, if you are free, would you have a coffee with me?”
Faye stood in
disbelief, wondering what had happened. She looked around her. Her colleagues
were still in the corner while one of the businessmen seemed delighted. She
turned back to look at Abel who was now looking at street urchins outside the
window begging for money.
“Er, Abel?”
“Yes?” Abel turned
around slowly, as if he knew what she would reply.
“I get free in an
hour. After that?”
“Sure, no problems.
I’ll complete my story till then,” he smiled.
Faye turned around and
went back to the counter. Her colleagues stopped hobnobbing together when they
saw her approaching. Faye couldn’t stop smiling and hoped that Abel wouldn’t
notice. He wouldn’t as he was already immersed into his sheet of paper.
Abel had written just
a few words on his paper. But he knew he could elaborate and make a fine story
now.
Faye. Abel. Love. Four-letter words.
