I wait in the now deserted café. The aroma of French vanilla, hazelnut, and cinnamon fill the air around me as my anxiety grows with each passing minute. I watch as the clock on the wall ticks to three. My thoughts imagine scenarios of him getting stuck in traffic or his car breaking down. Maybe that’s why he’s late. My heart is pounding in my chest. I watch the silhouettes passing by the café window, hoping and praying one of them could be my date. I look at my phone again. Maybe he called and I didn’t hear it but once again the empty screen flashes before my eyes. He hadn’t replied since last night when he asked me to go out with him. I send a text. This is my tenth one so far. I flip my phone over, not wanting to look at the screen again or to see my own desperate face reflect on its surface.

But as the clock ticks to four and the café starts filling up again, I realize something’s wrong. I realize that I was just stood up. I can’t bring myself to send another text message for fear. Fear of no reply. I finish my cup before bolting out into the cold dark streets, rain pouring profoundly down like a waterfall.



3 thoughts on “Desert

  1. rollingblogger says:

    Good post. All the way up to the apology at the end. You don’t owe any readers an apology for not writing ever. There are a Merida of reasons why a writer doesn’t write. Our readers will be there when we pick it up again and they don’t need to know we were in a lapse. But good post. Keep writing.

    Liked by 1 person

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