Stars Align at Starbucks

I have only seen her once before in the Starbucks I’ve frequented for years. One of the reasons I love going to that particular coffee shop was the plethora of interesting and beautiful characters I saw in its intimate setting, and she was definitely among the hall-of-famers in that regard.

Our initial encounter was a couple of months back, though I remember it like it was yesterday. We were lounging in the same sofa and happened to engage in idle chatter. I clearly recall how she twirled her hair as she sunk comfortably in the couch, how she adorably pouted her lips whenever she blew into her coffee cup, how she gazed at me with genuine curiosity when I spoke, as if I were telling her a centuries-old secret.

For those precious few minutes, she made me feel like I was the most interesting person in the world.

…

The second time our paths crossed was at the same Starbucks last week. She glided across the lounge area with a cup in hand, her long black hair perfectly framing and contrasting the angelic, pale face that crowned her svelte torso. The unexpected sight of her made my heart palpitate uncontrollably. I wondered if she remembered that day months ago. I wondered if she remembered me at all.

As she sat at the table beside mine, we exchanged the momentary smiles that strangers offer one another in passing. She did not remember me, I thought, and my shoulders drooped in unison with my spirit.

But to my surprise and pure delight, when she turned in her chair and looked at me for a second or two, she uttered, with noticeable recognition in her dark brown eyes and sincere glee in her voice, “Why, hello there!” Oh, the bliss that filled my soul at that very moment was indescribable.

She then joined me at the table and we began to talk about the typical things that fresh acquaintances chat about: work, family, hobbies. It unfolded like a perfect, casual date–romantically facilitated by fate. Or perhaps it was just fortunate happenstance. Either way, I did not care as long as we were enjoying each other’s company at that very moment in time and space.

The conversation turned to the topic of exercise, prompted by the entrance of a sculpted, tanned lady in a tank top and running shorts, whom I evaded looking at but which she pointed out. She said she’d kill for a body like hers and, in fact, started working out in an effort to lose 10 pounds, to which I reacted with a look of honest incredulity. I told her she looked great “as is,” sheepishly thinking that understated flattery will get me somewhere. Of course, what I really wanted to say was that she looked absolutely stunning. Even in her casual black t-shirt, gray flip-flops and form-hugging black sweatpants that silhouetted her calves and exposed her porcelain-like ankles, she was a glorious sight to behold. (I could not, however, bring myself to give such a blatant compliment like that. Timid as a turtle, it’s well beyond my ability to charm the members of the fairer sex with such ease and eloquence.)

We discovered that we both did yoga, and that she had actually just come from a session before heading to the café. When I asked her what her favorite pose was, she stood up and playfully showed me her tree pose: She anchored her left foot to the floor, lifted her right and rested it on the inner side of her left thigh, then raised her arms so that her palms rested against each other above her head. The vision of her in that unnatural but elegant pose was pivotal, so to speak, as it was at that exact moment when she completely enamored my susceptible heart.

“I think that, possibly, maybe I’m falling for you
Yes, there’s a chance that I’ve fallen quite hard over you
I’ve seen the paths that your eyes wander down,
I wanna come, too
I think that, possibly, maybe I’m falling for you”