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MOLESKINE: Terms of Engagement

MOLESKINE The Little Black Book Challenge - a teenage girl has a chance encounter with a mysterious stranger in a coffee shop...

By Shamona PretzPublished 3 years ago 8 min read
2
MOLESKINE: Terms of Engagement
Photo by Charles Deluvio on Unsplash

I sat alone in the empty café. Although I was in the corner, light still found me, pouring in from the large windows at the shop’s front.

The only other occupant was a barista behind the counter, a woman with green hair and tattoos. She was tidying up for when the next customer would come through the door.

I took a measured sip of my matcha tea latte, letting its warmth and sweetness touch my soul. I then brushed several strands of my long black hair behind my ear and pulled out two items from my purse beside me.

One was my trusty black gel pen, the other was a small black notebook.

It was my Moleskine, my canvas. I let my fingertips run across its soft, luxurious cover, as though I was trying to get the notebook to imbue me with some untold knowledge or inspiration.

I opened the notebook to a blank page and, pen in hand, I let its ink dance across the emptiness as I began to sketch.

I had no particular plan in mind, so initially I just created abstract shapes. Eventually, those shapes took hold into something within the real world, and I went to work earnestly crafting my art.

First, it was leaves, then it was long, strong petals. I had no paint, no coloured pencils, but I could almost see the deep royal purple in the flowers I had manifested from my mind’s eye…

I was so engrossed in my project that I didn’t hear the bell against the door chime when someone had walked into the café. I was brought back to reality by the sound of a chair scraping loudly across the floor; the newcomer had opted to sit across from me at my table.

Out of all the other tables.

Out of all the other chairs in the entire café.

I attempted to ignore him, but after several awkward seconds, he broke the silence.

“Hi,” said the stranger.

I glanced up. He looked to be about my age, maybe slightly older, though his hair was a messy mop of silver grey. He was wearing a black leather jacket over a plain white t-shirt, and black jeans. His skin was tanned, as though he spent all day walking along the California shorelines.

Reluctantly, I tore myself away from my sketching and gave him an annoyed look. “Can I help you?”

“I don’t know, can you?” he replied. He smiled so broadly it reached his grey eyes with an almost mirthful effervescence.

I pointed my pen at the rest of the café. “You know, there ARE other seats in here…”

“I know,” he said. “But this just seems like the best spot in the café. Where all the action happens. Whatcha got there?”

Hey!” Before I could react, he grabbed my Moleskine and started leafing through its pages. Although there were no words, only images, it felt like he was looking through my diary. I felt exposed, violated. “Give it back!” I hissed.

“Ahh, you’re an artist, I see,” he said, scrutinizing one page between his large hands. I was terrified he was going to rip a page….or worse. What if he tore the pages out and crumpled them up in front of me?

At last, I was able to wrest my notebook from his grasp, and I immediately stuffed it back in my purse. “Hasn’t anyone ever told you not to take other people’s things?”

“Hasn’t anyone ever told you that Vitamin D is good for the body?” he quipped back.

I knew he was talking about my complexion. Compared to him, I was like a walking ghost, as white as the latte art that sat atop my matcha beverage. In spite of myself, I felt my skin grow hot, and I knew that I was changing an embarrassing shade of pink.

He pressed on. “It’s such a nice day outside. What’s a girl like you doing cooped up in a deserted coffee shop?”

“I like the quiet,” I said. “Usually, I can count on solitude in empty spaces. And anyway, I suppose I can ask you the same question. Why do you feel the need to be in here?”

The stranger gave me a smug look and leaned back in his chair. “What? Isn’t it obvious?”

He looked at me expectantly, but I just stared blankly. His expression then changed from smugness to surprise. “Seriously? You don’t recognize me?”

“I don’t know…am I supposed to?” Now that he mentioned it, he did look vaguely familiar, like I had seen him on the street or in my neighbourhood. “Have we met?”

“Wow…” he said under his breath; I could see him deflate in his seat. “Okay. Never mind. Well, if you must know, I’m here to nurse a broken heart.”

“A broken heart…?” I said, intrigued.

“Is this man bothering you?” At some point, the green-haired barista must have left her station behind the counter to check up on me, probably when my tablemate so rudely snatched my notebook. She looked down at him suspiciously, just waiting for me to give the word so she could throw him out of her establishment.

Instead, I had a change of heart. “Uh…no, it’s fine. We’re just fooling around. We’ll try to be more quiet.”

I wasn’t sure if she believed me or not. Nevertheless, the barista set down a mug of steaming black liquid next to my seatmate and went back to the counter.

“Why are you nursing a broken heart?” I asked.

“Now look who’s being nosy…” he said.

“You brought it up first…” I shot back.

“Let me look through your notebook, and maybe I’ll tell you.”

“What?” I became flustered again. “Why?”

“I dunno…because I liked it? Because you’re really talented?”

“I…thank you?” I wasn’t sure if he was being sincere or trying to butter me up so he could get what he wanted. Regardless, I decided to oblige him; once more, I pulled out my Moleskine and laid it out on the table so we both could see.

“These are really good,” he said, as he flipped through the pages. This time, he went through the book more slowly; it seemed as though he was being more delicate with the page turning, which put my anxious mind at ease. “Did you train at an art school?”

I scoffed. “Me? No…this is strictly a hobby. And anyway, I couldn’t afford it even if I wanted to…”

Eventually, he came to my most recent page, the black and white sketch.

“Very cool…irises?” he asked.

“Yeah,” I said surprised. How on Earth could he know?

“They were my girlfriend’s favourite flower,” he said, as though he were reading my mind. “I actually bought her some today, when I proposed….it didn’t go over so well.”

“She turned you down?” I asked.

He nodded. “I mean…she kept the flowers…but she gave back the ring.”

I brought a hand to my chest. “I’m so sorry.”

He smiled faintly, but said nothing. It was silent between us for a moment. I smoothed down my Moleskine on the table. “The irises…remind me of my grandmother. They’re her favourite flower.”

“Is she still alive?” he asked.

“Yes…but she’s very sick. The doctors say she needs surgery to survive, but we can’t afford the medical bills.”

“How much is the procedure?” he asked.

“A lot - $20,000. There’s no way my family can save up enough money. Maybe if we had more time….”

I stopped talking. Thinking about my ailing grandmother and the helplessness that I felt suddenly overwhelmed me. Without saying another word, I abruptly stood and went straight to the washroom, shutting the door behind me.

I turned on the sink faucet and splashed cold water onto my face. After a few minutes and several deep breaths, I could feel myself start to calm down.

I looked at myself in the mirror. My eyes looked a bit puffy, but otherwise I was alright. I heard the door chime just as I left the washroom.

I returned to my seat. He was gone. His drink remained untouched.

“Looks like he left in a hurry,” said the barista. “Hope everything was okay.”

Left in a hurry? Oh no…

My thoughts immediately spiraled to the worst-case scenario: that he had swiped my wallet when I turned my back. I scolded myself for being so trusting. How could I be so careless…!

But as I rummaged through my purse, I realized that every item was where it should have been, wallet and all. Confused, I set my purse back on the ground. Then I was concerned. Why DID he leave in such a hurry?

I then noticed the napkin on the table. Using my pen, he must’ve scrawled a note onto the napkin. I read it.

Glad to have met you. Sorry for making fun of you, and I hope your grandmother gets better soon.

Later,

T

As I stared at the napkin, I suddenly heard a loud commotion from outside the coffee shop. A group of teenage girls ran by in droves, screaming excitedly. I stood up from my seat and ran over to the window, but by the time I reached the front of the store, the girls were already down the block.

I then heard another noise, this time from within the café.

The barista had unmuted the TV above the counter, which had been set on an entertainment news channel.

The banner across the screen read BREAKING NEWS: CELEBRITY HEARTHROB CALLS IT QUITS AFTER FAILED ENGAGEMENT.

“This just in,” said the female reporter on the TV. “Teen celebrity Taylor Matthew-Ross is back on the market after his recent breakup with his Brazilian model girlfriend of two years. It’s rumoured he had purchased a ruby engagement ring worth over $20,000.”

I walked back to my spot in the corner in a daze. It couldn’t be…

As I sat down, I realized for the first time that my notebook had been closed, when it was definitely open when I went to the washroom.

I re-opened the Moleskine to the page with the black-and-white irises; sure enough, in the crease of my notebook lay a small splash of colour. I picked it up and held it between my fingers.

It was a ruby ring.

fact or fiction
2

About the Creator

Shamona Pretz

I am a fiction writer, specializing in YA and fantasy.

Visit my website at https://sylviesoul.com

Buy Me a Coffee! - https://www.buymeacoffee.com/rgvwZexNH

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