The Lunch Break

Leandre was your average joe, with average qualities and an average life. An average job. Average wage. I need not continue about his life right, you get the picture. Leandre was the guy currently running inside a diner in the afternoon with his sleeves rolled till his elbows, half his shirt peeking out his trousers and his laces undone. His blond hair a mess and dripping. A messenger side bag hanging at his hips, carelessly thrown across his shoulder. A pen held between his lips and sheets of paper in his hands marked red and blue in places.

Leandre rushed inside the diner and sat at the nearest empty table he could lay his eyes on. He wrote frantically with his right hand and rose his left hand in the air as if he was the studious student of the class who had just a single minute till the end of the period and he wanted to make a note of what the professor was saying and ask a question in that one tiny minute. His hour-long lunch break was again bound to pass with him working and drinking a ton of coffee and his stomach empty. A waitress soon attended him, though, much to his comfort.

“What can I do” she began but was cut short by his smooth and unabused voice.

“I need a Cappuccino. Please. Quick. Thank you.” said he with his eyes never leaving the paper. The only difference was that before he had his hand in the air and right now, they were in his hair.

Mumbling figures under his breath and crunching figures in his head, he felt his stomach grumble and revolt. His stomach clearly threatened him to file a case against him in the labor court and like a perfect boss he looked for the waitress to ask for his coffee again. He called her and went back to his work.

“Please,” he said. “Save my life. Cappuccino. Hurry.”

His mind was well trained to look past all the distractions and troubles. He had trained himself to be void of all emotion. He was no longer irritated by the loud speaking and verbal diarrhea-suffering co-worker. He was well trained to look past the construction noises and into his hieroglyphics worksheets. But when another couple of minutes passed and his coffee was nowhere to be found, he lost it. He lost control over himself and he couldn’t control his anger. His anger aimed at himself that he got himself in at work released at the poor waitress. His frustrations released themselves as a river breaks the dam built on her and escapes.

He quietly capped his pen. And waited for the waitress to pass him by, like a rattlesnake waiting for his prey to come near him. And when she did, he pounced. He stood up and look at her in the eyes and raised his voice and said, “MY COFFEE!”

The coffee shop came to a stand still and everyone turned around to look at him. The sound of his voice sent something breaking inside of him. It broke his current state and he noticed that the poor waitress was shivering. Her eyes were brimming with tears and she was scared. Unable to apologize for his actions, he turned to the table and picked up his papers in preparation to walk out of the store. But then, the magic happened.

“Stay here,” a feminine voice said to the waitress and pulled at his elbow; forcing him to turn around and face her. Her circular face with her cheeks puffy, a tiny girl stood in front of the man who was finding it hard to find his words. Her black hair were neatly tied in a bun but a few strands had broken free from the restraints and were caressing her cheek on the right side of her face. She wore a pink chapstick in the name of makeup and her cheeks were red. Wait. Flushed red, in anger.

“What is your problem, sir?” she asked clearly angry. “Can you not see this is a busy day and we have other customers to attend to as well?”


“But what? You cannot wait for your coffee? Even if you cannot wait for you fix of caffeine, you could at least be gentle about being rude. Was it necessary to shout on the top of your lungs?” she screamed at him. Which flushed her face a deeper shade of crimson.

“I.. I. I’m sorry.” he said his head hung down.

That cooled her down but still it was not enough to bring her comfort. Her face was starting to lose the recently acquired flush but her gaze was still cold. “You say that to the other girl Mister.And no coffee for you.” she said and walked away.

“Thank you Louna” the other waitress whispered to the girl as she went back to the kitchen.

As Leandre walked out of the coffee shop, the shop filled with applause for the girl who stood up. Strong and confident. And Leandre found himself daydreaming of Louna ever since.


See You See Me

Work. Work. Work. Work.


I should have known that what am I getting myself into when I signed up for this Master of Surgery program. There is hardly any time left and all I can see around by me is just more and more work load and more and more projects, assignments, vivas! Load. Overloaded with work.

Coffee! I need a cold coffee. I look up above my papers and find a glass of chilled coffee, precipitating but thankfully kept on a coaster to keep my papers dry. I took a sip from it and let the caffeine wash over me. If someone was to say to me a few years ago that I will be drinking coffee at 3 a.m. I would probably behind the bars. And yet, here I am doing what I am doing.

Sometimes I just want to pick this book up and throw it on the floor with all my might. But it’s all for the cute and adorable boy who happens to be my boyfriend that I go through this torment of burden of surgery. Silly Al dreams of me performing an open heart surgery!


O no I totally forgot! Al! We were to eat dinner at 12! I got so engrossed in my study that I missed out on food!

I look frantically here and there and find Al in a position that just melt my heart makes me blush as deep a crimson as beetroot. Al sat on a chair opposite to me. The back of the chair was towards me and so was his face. He had crossed his arms and rested his cheek on it in such a manner that his head was tilted parallel to the Earth. His eyes transfixed on me. Admiring me as if he got the chance to see Sistine Chapel being painted live.

“I love the way you work!”, silly Al says in a raspy voice which makes him appear even more adorable.

My Al. He and his fanatics, both beyond this world.

Our Pious Silence

I hold our silence pious.

It has a secret deep within itself which makes it as it is. Crawling around the room and peeking from the walls, it teases us. Then come tiptoeing and sits besides us. She likes to play with us. She comes in between our conversations and creates moments we might not forget.

Flushing our faces red and elongating our smiles. Making us shy. At these moments I think silence sits by us and with a gleeful expression looks at first my face then yours and then back and forth. She then pokes one of us with it’s finger and we break the glace between us cause we’re too shy to talk all of a sudden.

It seems like a sin to break our silence. Silence when I am in front of you and looking in your eye, our shoulders touching and the moon witnessing our moments and our hands find each other and entwine. Silence when you look up from your book at me and find my fingers not moving on the laptop anymore and my eyes fixated at your face with a warm feeling.

Silence. Our pious silence. She’s like an entity in from of whom we’re too shy to talk.

But when we break our silence, we create the most beautiful thing in the world. We build the wonder of the world, wonderful beyond the eight wonders. But our silence….




“So”, you whispered in my ear. “What’s in lunch today chef?”

I ain’t no gourmet. I don’t cook a wide range of dishes but my answer to this question will always be: “Whatever you ask for my Angel.”

You look into my eyes as you part slightly from the hug and say, “What’s the chef’s recommendation for today?”

I am no chef. I have rare specials which aren’t so rare and my own contraptions which can’t be called recipes but assembled food. And still I would give a professional answer. “Thai noodles, Madame.”

Your eyes say you’re hungry and your tummy growls a revolt. You embrace me again and whisper into my ear. “How can I help you? Chef.”

I am no chef and other definitely any help would do just fine. Someone to chop and slice and dice would be greatly appreciated and but my answer to this will always be the same: “By eating the food I give you ma’am.”

You’re getting impatient and hungrier with every second passing by. You lean your chin on my shoulder and whisper from there with a curious, “How much time more?”

I am no chef and I don’t have a lot of experience. It can take me 15 minutes in just getting the slicing done but my answer to you will always be: “It’s almost done, my Angel.”

And it’s not because I am an expert liar but because:
1.) No matter how bad I cook, your answer will always be “It’s so delicious.”
2.) I love you.

P.s. Learn to cook for you woman boys.