Same location. Same order. Same song. But— different people.
What was different this time?
Five years apart- they met again, after the blast, in the
prowess of illusions, destruction, and tranquility.
18th June 2001, Café Flora was bustling with
couples serving each other a little bit of shyness and food, and families
serving smiles and waves of laughter. The baby pink walls made the place
welcoming for more connections, and the ambient brown furniture paved the way
for families and their chattery disputes. The khis-khis of the chairs, tak-tak
of the cutlery, and ringing of the ready orders served a fine aesthetic for
this busy café… Until a few things were about to change forever.
Pihu pushed the door and entered the café after struggling
with confusion to push or pull. She was wearing a light pink button-down shirt
with denim mom jeans and a white top inside, that socially showed a bit of her
cleavage. She looked for a seat in the busy café- That one… Oh no! Kids are
there. Or should I sit on the right, but there is already a couple there? She
had a small session of contemplation with herself before choosing a seat in the
extreme corner behind the cooler, on a patio. She figured out that the date was
more important to her than beating the heat in Delhi’s melting temperature.
Hi, are you Pihu? She tilted her head to confirm if it was
the same person and skeptically asked- Hi…. Ramit?
Hey, sorry for keeping you waiting. I got stuck in a little
traffic. Pihu got up from her chair to awkwardly say hi to Ramit and sat back.
Both of them looked at each other and then at the waiter. They were about to
order a menu card when the final beep rang and the café’s kitchen blasted.
Fortunately, most of the lives were saved but unfortunately, the baby pink
walls and the antique furniture lost their charm to the blast. When the fire
extinguishers came to check on the casualties, they found a couple unconscious on
the patio and took them to the hospital. Unfortunately, the couple did not have
a menu card on their table but a piece of pink shirt that helped recognize
them.
Five years passed, Café Flora changed to Café Da Flora, the
baby pink walls turned to hues of orange, and the furniture was replaced by
cozy sofas. The café was hustling and bustling like any other day and two
people were sitting right opposite to each other on the patio away from the air
conditioner. Both of them raised their hands to order a menu card, looked at
each other in a lost déjà vu of the same song, got up, and left the Café Da
Flora.
