Sonder

I'm just a barista. Coffee-stained clothes and burnt hands are my accessories.

A man sits in the corner our local café, alone at a two-seated table. He refuses to order anything, staring longingly at the window, clinging onto the hope that an imaginative lover would turn the corner. When he decides to leave, I’ll pour his black coffee. He’ll walk home, head low, and clumsily bump into an old friend.

An estranged couple mirrored opposite sides of the shop, drinking identical lattes. They sit silently, exchanging sips and glances. They are dying for the other to take the courage they can’t.

A young girl whose eyes bear bags and bears the aura of dull colour sits at a table alone. She’s scrolling on her phone, sipping on an iced latte to keep her from collapsing. Her feet kick and tap in consistent familiar rhythm. She’s waiting for a call that would change her life; an opportunity to water her eyes and brighten her colours.

There’s a college student sitting at a stool by the counter. He’s scavenging through emails on his laptop while hot cocoa breathes by his arm. He’ll find the long-awaited declination and go home to the comforting hearth of his family’s love.

An old man sits drinking black coffee while reading a book, he doesn’t remember much of his childhood anymore. He knows it’s just a matter of time until his clock stops ticking. He doesn’t know that his high school sweetheart will passes by him in the street every Sunday.

A businessman is on a work call, working through black coffee and emails. Even on break he is always working. His home screen is that of his

three-year-old daughter, who he works for. When a co-worker comes in, they stop and stare with stars in their eyes.

A little girl sits beside her mother, kicking her legs without making any noise. She hums sweetly while drinking her steamed milk, whip cream leaving snow foam on her lips. They’re waiting for her older sister's shift to end before they go home for dinner.

I am only their humble barista. When I go home today, it will be sundown. I will fumble with my keys to open my apartment door. My mother will call and ask how work was. She’ll tell me the world is as perfect as we see it; that every person is as beautiful as me. I will tell her I love her and eat a bowl of ramen. I will fall asleep at my computer with an opened Word document, and a half full cup of herbal tea by my elbow, waiting for morning.