A bustling yet grounding street. A flower shop in front of the café catches the eyes of even the stones. A book store to the right side of the flower shop. A bakery to the other, and there stands a fellow of around 25 years old, right in front of the glassed cakes. Gleaming in the bundle of people.
From the cafe's window seat. Mira observed him, checking the time on his wrist again and again as she played with the pen in her fingers. She was trying to birth an idea when the young lad appeared.
Mira was a young woman of 25 years. A famous but unknown writer. Long, slick hair, and her brown eyes were like her weapon. Yet her words always won against them, complementing her brown skin and her adequate height.
Her appearance in a black tuxedo had caught a lot of unwanted attention from a room full of basics. But one could easily notice how unmoved her rigid nature remained.
Her eyes were fixed on pale skin, black eyes, light brown hair, and a tall physique. A well-dressed, gentle-looking man. "He would be an idle character for my story." She stated to herself. When suddenly a car arrived in front of him and an invisible person welcomed him in.
Her cell phone rang along with the young man disappearing from her sight on four wheels, and she lightly boomed. "Where are you?"
"I'm sorry. I'm almost there." Her best friend and an accountant at the same company, named Neha, huffed through the phone. Neha, her best friend 26 years and pale in the skin, was the one she called her closest. Black in eyes, shorter and chubbier.
Like always, they were to meet at the café after their work. But she was late. Yet again.
"How come you're always late?" Mira quirked, catching people's surprised reactions. Her unbending aura had cracked all of a sudden.
"What? Bitch, I have to like really listen to our boss. Not like you." Rolling her eyes and smirking, Mira's eyes quickly met Neha's. Who had just entered the café, standing at the door as she gave Mira a look of disbelief? Tired from literally running to the café.
Mira cracked a smile, further snickering subtly as she watched Neha grumpily advance to the table and sit in front of her.
"Do you truly listen to that weird ass guy or you're just saying for the say?" Mira questioned, still in her posture, as Neha placed her bag beside her, regarding Mira's smirking lips.
"Well, not exactly. Still. I have to work. I can't tell him to just fuck off like you." Neha's tone was the opposite of Mira's calm and compassionate tone. Neha was more cheerful. Full of expressions and moods.
The waiter approached their table, yearning, looking at Mira's unaffected eyes while flirting with Neha's returning nature. He was a new waiter there. Or he would have never done that, keeping in mind Mira's rejecting nature.
As always. The black coffee, which Mira liked so much, was ordered along with Neha's milk tea and sandwiches.
"By the way. Why did Ms. Ray ask you to come so suddenly?" Being a writer so loved, Mira was the spoiled artist of the company. A writer who did as she wished. And her work compensated for all her spoiled behavior.
"She's pressuring me to write another story or a novel." Mira prickled, placing the notebook in her bag as she added further. "She's acting as if it's been years since I last published anything. It had not been that long since I last published."
"Well, it's been about one and half a year." Neha squinted her black eyes at her, leaning back on the couch, letting the waiter put their order on the table as she eyed the little part of his chest, visible through two unbuttoned buttons.
Very much familiar with Neha's behavior, Mira moved not an inch, eyeing the waiter to surrender his confidence.
The waiter quickly left, nervous, as Mira quoted. "At this rate, you might as well fuck him."
