The Aftermath

CHAPTER ONE

Part One

He scrunches his forehead, which I think he usually does when he’s having trouble understanding something. His big, manly hands tightly grip the backbone of the book he is reading. I see a quick clench of his jaw when his left hand reaches out for his coffee and sip it. I slightly stomp my feet to stop the wildness of the butterflies inside my stomach. I am half glad that my friend did not show up because of this mini show I get to watch for free. And it is in premium.

 The wind blows his shoulder-length hair, covering the face I am staring at for hours now. I have seen a lot of attractive men in my whole life. From magazines, billboards, TV shows, Hollywood actors to Korean pop idols. But this man right here—his whole aura screams like he just got out from a romantic novel. Be it the villain or the hero, I am paying just to have a conversation with him.

My illusions come to reality when Dustine shows up and sits in front of me and snatch my coffee from my hand.

“You startled me!” I snap at him jokingly. He laughs.

“I thought you’re busy. Why are you here with me now?” I ask him, intentionally putting a gloomy tone to at least make him feel guilty for keeping me wait for hours.

He places my coffee back to my hand.

“Professor Adele just gave us an activity. She called absent, so we just…all went home.” Dustine called me an hour ago saying he cannot see me today because his professor will give a quiz but I guess it’s cancelled now.

I nod. “Are you ready?” he asks. “Of course,” I reply, beaming with excitement, completely forgetting about the guy I fantasized on just few minutes ago. Dustine orders his coffee, latte, so I order mine too. For the second time. He opens his bag and reveals a stack of paper that almost made me jump from my chair. “Chill, chill,” he holds my shoulders, trying to control me.

“Dustine…” I stutter in awe.

The stack of papers he is holding are the manuscript I sent to him a month ago and the reason why I am getting emotional is that it’s already printed! Meaning it has been revised by his uncle—the editor of their publishing company.

Dustine is an only child and both of his parents died, leaving the publishing company to his father’s younger brother, his Uncle Cleo.

“I know. I’m pretty shock myself, too, when Uncle Cleo called last night,” he remarks. I grab some of the papers and read it. These are my words. The thoughts I have every 3 am that finally find their way to get out from my head. Dustine made this possible.

I look up at him and say, “Thank you so much.”

He beams, “You’re welcome, and besides, you promised to put my name on the acknowledgment. I’m rooting for that.” I laugh, “Sure.”

We talk for one more hour when we decide to go home so I could check the papers. “Please text me when you get home,” he says before he finally get on the taxi waiting for him. I wave my hand and turn around to go home. My apartment is just 500 steps away from this coffee shop. It’s pretty convenient for someone like me who loves coffee and alone time.

I’m on my doorstep when I suddenly remember the guy from the book. That guy.  I hope I’ll see him again. I might want him to be the new character to the next novel I am plotting.

Part Two

Two weeks had passed after the news. Dustine is busy preparing for his finals while I am pretty occupied with my story. I double check everything just to make sure it’s flawless. I am not a perfectionist but for this, for this book, I might become one.

I take few minutes to relax my eyes. They are hurting really badly. I look around my place. My whole room is a mess because I haven’t done my laundry yet and the books and papers just scatter around the place. I completely forget what the sun and mornings look like because my room is very dark—because I like it dark—and the sunlight cannot get in here.

I chose this apartment because of its design—dark-painted and closed—just my type. This way I will feel like my thoughts and ideas are imprisoned and cannot get out from my head, or from this room. I often trick myself with this because writer’s block is my friend. And we’re very close friends.

I might forget what the sun looks like but not how my coffee tastes. For the nth time today, I make coffee. I think I consumed more caffeine than proteins this whole two weeks. I open the curtains blinding the light, assuming that it would somehow heal my eyes, but it hurts more instead. So, I close the curtains again.

My phone beeps. I pick up my phone. I notice how bland my nails are, clearly need a manicure. Maybe I should invite Dustine to go with me sometime. After this busy week.

It’s a text from Dustine. He said he’d come over to help me. I search up his name through my contacts and press the call button. I don’t want him to worry about me because I know he has to study. Dustine is a medical student and he’s on his last year now, graduating. I cannot afford to think of the possible outcomes that might happen if he can’t have his full attention to his exams.

He picks up, “Hey.”

I pull the chair towards me and sit. “You don’t have to come over, you know. I have like 50 pages left.” It’s true. I finished off the 500 pages last week.

I hear him sigh, “That’s still a lot. You’ll hurt your eyes from reading. And besides, 50 pages is 25 when I’m there to help,” he insists.

“No. I’m sure I’ll get this done within an hour. Just study for your exams and I’ll do my work here, okay?” I did not wait for him to answer because I know he’ll insists again. But I am sure I can do this alone too.

Dustine is like my brother. He’s gay, by the way. Just not the type that wear makeups and cross-dress. I’m a year older than him. We met two years ago in a workshop for writers. Dustine was an aspiring writer too. I still haven’t got the guts to ask him why he stopped writing because it’s obviously personal, but he helps me in getting mine. My dream. Or what I like to call, our dream.

Part Three

His eyes are green. No, gray. Gray but greenish, I think. Or maybe it’s just the light of the bulb that reflects to his eyes. I don’t know but it’s attractive. Not just his eyes but the way he stares at things like he’s totally engrossed, like no one’s around him. I bet he don’t even know that someone is staring at him.

It’s nine o’clock in the evening and the light inside the coffee shop is not that bright but I wish I wore a better outfit than pajamas. The table where I sit at is just 3 tables away from him. And I know that the moment he will lift his head, our eyes will meet. He’s at the center of all the tables. I don’t know if he chose the attention himself or it’s just that he attracts attention. I was hoping he’d look at my direction but he is so focused to the book he is reading.

He stands up suddenly so I panic. I quickly turn my head to the opposite direction, pretending like I’m looking for someone. I think he did not look at this side though. I can still see him from my peripheral vision. Oh. He’s just fixing his pants. I sigh in relief. I thought he noticed me when I’m obsessively staring at him like how a lion looks at its prey. He sits back again. I silently laugh at how ridiculous I must have look to the people who might have seen how I reacted.

The wind blows cold breeze. Every hair follicles of my body stands to attention. I should have bring a jacket. My eyes look for the guy but he’s nowhere to be found. I frown. I raise my head a bit, just enough to take a glance of the exit. He’s gone. I sit back to my chair. He must be living somewhere near now that I see him twice. In this coffee shop.

I finish off my coffee and pick up my phone to leave. I did not plan to stay longer anyway. When I take three steps from my sit, I get a sniff of petrichor. It might rain tonight and I’d better hurry. But talk about bad luck, the rain starts falling as soon as I step outside. I hurriedly go back inside and dry myself. I tilt my head to look at the sky and there are no stars. When I turn my phone on to check the time, it’s already past ten o’clock. I don’t have a curfew but I hate it when I break my own sleeping pattern. I cannot sleep anymore or I’ll have trouble sleeping if it’s 11 and onwards at night.

This is what I get from choosing to buy coffee instead of making one in my apartment when I even have a coffee nook. Coffee shops just hit different, especially this one. That guy is a bonus.

“Hey,” the lady from the counter approaches me. She has an umbrella in her hand.

“Yes?” I answered even though I knew she is going to give me the umbrella. I know her, of course. I’ve been here so many times.

She offers, “You can take this. You can just give it back tomorrow or anytime you’ll come back here again.” That’s so nice of her to offer. She’s not the cheerful type so I assumed she’s mean. She has naturally on fleek eyebrows that give her that kind of personality. I guess I’m wrong.

“Oh, thank you! I promise to give this back tomorrow morning.” She turns her back on me after giving me a timid smile. I press the small button in the handle of the umbrella and I start walking. I cannot run because my pajamas are white. Talk about bad luck, I’m a loyal customer.

I arrive ten minutes later. My pajamas are wet but it’s still clean. I hate doing laundry mainly the white ones. Good thing I’m a slow walker so I didn’t get it dirty. I put my cellphone on the top of my bedside table. I want to take a shower to get a good night sleep because tomorrow might be the most waited day of my life, or maybe not. 

Sir Cleo, Dustine’s uncle sent me an email just three days ago saying that my book is ready to be printed. Into hundred copies. I know that’s not a lot but it still makes me happy. I read articles about famous authors that most writers came from drags. 

Besides, I also have to know if many readers will like my story or not. That way I could decide if I’m going to print more or just stick with the hundred copies. I’m pretty confident about my story though. It impressed Dustine and Uncle Cleo said there weren’t much to edit. Dustine is one tough critic and Uncle Cleo’s editors are not joking.

I smile at that thought. I think my story passed the test.