“So, a small flat white with extra vanilla syrup, soy milk, cream, marshmallows, and one raspberry cookie. Anything else?”

“No, thank you. You’ll bring it to my table, right?”

“Yes, as soon as the coffee is ready.” I told the customer.

They took a seat in our not-so-newly renovated terrasse, as I got to work. Although the coffee maker was just about the only thing that had survived, Manon had managed to get a hold of the exact same kind of green metal chairs and matching sets of earthy-coloured cushions in a surprisingly short amount of time. The tables had to be replaced with more modern, black-metal and glass ones, but overall the feel of the shop had remained quite the same.

I brought the order to the table outside and went back to my station after exchanging politeness with that customer.

When I wasn’t busy taking orders, I would rearrange our pastry selection, or clean the counter with all the cups and syrops, waiting for Etienne to join or replace me. We hardly ever had enough traffic to warrant two people at the counter, as the other person on the floor would typically clean tables, and restock crockery. Manon was that other person today, but seeing how nice the weather was outside, and how few stay-in customers we were getting, she deemed I could manage by myself, and retreated into her office.

So, with no one to keep me company, I returned to my other main activity: getting lost in my own head.

The two days in Geneva had been exhausting, and, despite somehow managing to sleep this night, I was slowly feeling the effects of the tiredness settling in. It was strange, the way the System operated and governed this world. Getting attacked with a sword didn’t leave any scars, but being hit in the face with a chunk of ice did. Skills could affect my ability to resist to magic (or skill-induced, the two words could and have always been used interchangeably), but not my own emotions and conditions, like fear or tiredness.

I had been living here for three months, and I did consider myself well-adjusted, but sometimes I couldn’t help myself but think that this was all some sort of dream, that perhaps I was in a coma after the terrorist attack on the train, that I would wake up any time, and my mum and dad would be there. And they’d bring their dog Bonaparte with them, and that gross little bulldog would drool all over the hospital equipment –

But a part of me didn’t want to go back, even if there was a possibility to, which I did not recall from the book. This same part of me was the one that constantly told me that I should go on an adventure, that I should strive for more. Especially now that I had Cain- Thebes (as was his actual name)- by my side. And I knew I could, but I also didn’t want to get into trouble. There were people way more powerful than me in this book- in this world- and even if I couldn’t die, it didn’t mean I’d leave a happy life after an encounter with them. Even if Cain could protect me, if Huáng Yǔháng’s right hand teamed up with that pop-star girl from volume 2, and the sea-witch from the ‘Cruise-ship’ spin-off –

“Hello, um, could I have a coffee?” A voice interrupted my train of thought.

“Yes, of course, what would you like to have?” I answered in my polite business tone. “Wait, you’re that guy from the, umm, wall.” I snapped my fingers as I recognised the young man before me.

“Yes,” He replied with an awkward smile. “I didn’t think you’re remember…”

I did remember him as the overworked guard with self-confidence issues. But I didn’t remember his name. Thankfully that could be easily remedied.

“Jean-Yves!” I exclaimed in a tone that came off as too friendly. “Yes, I do remember you, what would you like to drink?”

“A, umm, coffee?” He said as he blushed and looked away. “I’m not sure what there is, I never come to these kinds of places.”

“You say that as if we’re some sort of illegal business.” I joked as I pulled out one of our fold-up menus, the laminated ones that went on the tables when we had more traffic.

Jean-Yves examined the menu with an expression lacking conviction. Hoping to help him along, I suggested:

“What do you like? Sweet stuff? Bitter stuff? Hot? Cold? I can make you something custom. We’ve restocked not long ago, so there’s also a full range of syrups.”

He glanced at the counter behind me, trying to see what kind of syrup bottles we had. I watched him with an amused smile. It was almost cute, how lost he seemed in this coffee shop. Like a kitten who went outside for the first time, and tried to figure out what grass was. With this thought, the smile vanished off my face, as the kitten and grass metaphor reminded me of Cain who was still stuck at home. I wondered how long it’d been since he last saw grass.

“I’d like a latte, with hazelnut and vanilla syrup then?” Jean-Yves finally decided.

“Right on it. Stay in or take away?” I asked.

“Umm, well, I had figured we’d … umm, sit together, but I…”

I had turned around to fill the coffee-maker, and mentally swore when I heard those words. Jean-Yves seemed to be misunderstanding the situation. As I glanced back, I saw how he was nervously fidgeting with his hands. I couldn’t bring myself to outright tell him that I didn’t make my offer in any romantic kind of way, but seeing him like that, I felt bad for him.

“Actually my shift isn’t over until this evening, so …” I lied.

“Oh.” He looked at me with surprise. “I can wait- wait, maybe not but…”

“Hey, Lo, I’ve got you something.” Etienne suddenly emerged from the stairway leading downstairs. He was holding a small paper bag in his hands, no doubt containing stolen pastries.

Both Jean-Yves and I snapped our heads towards him, him in surprise, me in an attempt to convey with my eyes that I needed him to play along with my story. He made a confused expression, evidentially having not undersood my intentions, before asking:

“What’s going on?”

“I’m making coffee.” I replied in a tone that was all but natural.

“To go.” Jean-Yves clarified, as he looked away.

I prepared his coffee in awkward silence, before handing it to him and watching him leave. Etienne stood there the entire time, observing the situation with concerned confusion.

It was only when I took out my father’s card to pay, that he finally spoke:

“Was that your boyfriend or something?”

“No!” I immediately sput out. “Do I look like I have a boyfriend?”

“Well I don’t know.” Etienne replied with a bitter tone I’d never heard him use before. “This is for you.” He said as he dropped the paper bag on the counter before heading downstairs, without even giving me a second glance.

“That wasn’t my boyfriend!” I called after him. “I’ve met him once before, that’s all. Etienne!”

But Etienne did neither respond nor come back up.

I sigh.

My life was starting to look more and more like that of a character from ‘immortal immorality’; shaped by misunderstandings and driven by selfish goals.

“Oh, such drama. I hope you’ll be okay.” An old lady who’d just come up to the counter said.

She wore ceremonial robes and gave off the strangest impression. The way she looked at me, it was almost as if she could see through my soul and into my future; or that she was about to give me some ‘valuable relationship advice’. So, before she’d had the time to do either of those things, I asked:

“Sorry about that. What would you like to order?”