Like a regular Sunday, Sarah went down to the coffee shop. She ordered her favorite. It was a cappuccino with no sugar, an extra shot of espresso, and extra foam. She believed nothing was possible without her coffee. Generally, her Sundays were filled with chores she has avoided throughout the week. She does tasks like doing laundry, vacuuming the rented apartment, whole week’s dishes and stuff like her weekly groceries. She had lived alone for almost eight years. Her last relationship left her more devastated than before. As a result, she had fallen into a routine she wasn’t even aware of. But, today was not like any other Sunday. In fact, today was the toughest Sunday of them all.
The most charming girl, who always greets the barista as she walks into the shop, was awfully quiet this morning. Phone in her hand, she ordered her coffee like a routine. Incapable of moving a step further, she found herself sinking into the chair closest to her. On her phone, she had 15 missed calls from her sister, Ashley. Ashley lives in New York. She is her only connection to the home she once called hers. She kept looking at her phone screen. A silent tear fell on the phone and slid down till its edge. She made no effort to clean it. She knew it would be of no use because there would more of them coming.
The message on her screen read: Time of death 3 hours ago.
Her mother, whom she has not met in the last many years, suffered a silent attack this morning. Being away from family was never tough for her because being independent required a silent sacrifice. The news pressing deeper and deeper in her chest, she remained quiet and inattentive to her surroundings. It’s funny how little attention we pay to the world around us when ours comes to a standstill. With quivering lips and a shudder running through her entire body, she looked up straight unable to think straight. Across her sat an old woman stirring her coffee slowly, as though she had nowhere urgent to be.
Her hands trembling, Sarah reached for her coffee. Her tearful eyes kept her from looking clearly. The tremble in her hands made her accidentally knock the cup of coffee off the table. She snapped out of her internal turmoil. She blinked fast to rid the tears in her eyes. She immediately put her phone on the table. She reached for the napkins in her bag. Before she grabbed them, she saw the old woman steadying the cup straight. The woman used her handkerchief to pat down the dripping coffee on the table.
“You are alright dear, its okay,” she said gently, not expecting a profuse thanks. Her eyes were kind, lined with years of listening. She continued cleaning the mess in silence. Sarah, still out of words and eyes full of tears, muttered a low “thank you, ma’am.” After a while, the woman picked up her bag and was heading out to leave. Before she left, she gave a napkin to Sarah. It had a small message scribbled across it: This heaviness will pass.
By the time she looked up, she had already left the coffee shop and was walking out on the street. Sitting there, Sarah couldn’t help but notice the faint smell of her perfume. It was a quiet reminder that even strangers can carry light in the darkest of our hours.
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