I have watched enough Bridgerton stories and read enough New York Times: Modern Love Stories to spot a love story. If anything, I have learned that love comes in many forms. In my stay in Pretoria, love came wrapped in coffee arts, and lots of warm smiles.

There’s a teary glow in your eyes each time you smile. The smile you give to a lover you can’t have. A smile that says under different circumstances we’d be brewing coffee and watching birds in a small country home filled with art and books and a garden of flowers. And the way you look at me. Not a stare. Not a glance. A just enough look. Enough to communicate care.  A look that says beyond the coffee and beyond being a good serviceman, you are gentle. You see me.

I still remember the day you told me your name. ‘Sam,’ you said. 

‘Sam’ I repeated. I almost didn’t want to know your name.  I wanted to experience a love like they do in poetry. Mysterious, filled more with questions about the other person. The thrill of the unknown.

Each day I showed up at the coffee shop. Sometimes, early in the morning, or at midday. You always served me. You always smiled at everyone. I smiled at you because your smile made my day. At first, I didn’t know it until one day, one of those many stressful days in Pretoria, I heard myself resolve to go to the coffee shop, not for coffee but for your smile because I knew it would lift my spirits. 

I see the care with which you make my coffee. You ask me what I need. I never mention anything in the menu Instead, I always describe what I need. And you always make me something that works each time.

‘ Something that will keep me alert and not anxious’, ‘Something sweet and hot’, ‘Something to keep me focused as I work on this research’, ‘Something that will brighten my mood’. 

Every single cup did exactly what I asked for. You then make a small piece of art on the coffee.  Sometimes, I try to take a photo. Other days, I just smile and take the coffee; caring more about the fact that you spent so much time trying to make me happy.

‘Your smile makes my day’ you tell me one day. I am caught by surprise  because yours does make my day, and your smile is the best smile I have seen in a grown man. I do not think my smile compares in any measure to yours. 

One day you ask for my number and against my resolve to experience people without letting them in, I give it to you. You text me on the weekend and ask about my plans. Shopping, researching assignments, and a walk are all I do on some weekends. You say that you are taking your son to see his grandmother outside Pretoria. I ask about his mother. You say that you are not together anymore. I don’t ask more. I do not want to be invasive. You tell me that one day when we both have time, we should take the train and catch a movie at your house.

When I am leaving for Dakar, I walk around the malls searching hard for a gift to leave you. I try to think of what would make you happy. I think of what I would want you to remember me for. I settled on a Kenyan bracelet; because it reminds me of home.

I left a networking event to meet you. You ask me to come behind the coffee shop and talk. You tell me that you’ll miss me. I don’t say it but I know I will too. I give you the gift and we hug for a long time. I say goodbye and leave.

Four months later, I am back in Hatfield and pass by the coffee shop. You are surprised to see me. You smile and smile. 

‘I am happy to see that smile ne,’ is the first words you say to me. ‘You look good’ you add. I smile and you smile. I introduce you to my friend and you tell her how my smile makes your day. It’s ironic how your smile is the most thing I share about you to my friends. I invite you to my graduation party. You tell me that your whole family is visiting your mother’s grave that day. I ask for something light and not too sweet. You hand me the brown medium-sized coffee cup with a heart-shaped art on top of it.

coffee first post love modern love new site pretoria

Syonthi