The Coffee Story ;)

The Coffee Story

Elle: "On the journey of becoming a writer, I knew I would suffer as I fell deeper into the stories I created. Writer’s block is just one of the many hurdles, and to overcome it, I’ve been traveling through South India for the past two months in search of a good twist. One particular day, all I wanted was a cup of coffee before catching my flight back to Delhi—at least, that was the plan. But heaven had different plans for me. I walked into this charming little café with a retro atmosphere, Lata Mangeshkar’s voice drifting through the airwaves. I found a cozy corner, ordered a cold coffee and coffee fudge, and was so lost in the menu that when I finally looked up, I found myself staring into a pair of newly brewed coffee eyes. I was so mesmerized that it took me a moment to realize he was speaking to me—‘Ma’am? Ma’am?’ he asked, bringing me back to reality. Embarrassed, I made another blunder by saying ‘fud’ instead of ‘fudge,’ stumbling over my words. He just smiled, sparing me further embarrassment, and went to get my order. Trying to distract myself from my red face, I pulled out my diary and started scribbling. The café was quiet since it was only 9 AM, and I still had a few hours before my flight. I stole a few glances at the counter, where he was chatting with a delivery guy. He looked so fresh and gorgeous that I momentarily forgot about my flight. And then, as if sensing, he caught me looking, and our eyes locked. He chuckled, and I murmured to myself, ‘Oh, no, not again.’ When he brought me my order, I kept my head down and muttered a quick thank you, thinking he’d leave. But instead, he sat down across from me, smiling. ‘Writing something?’ he asked, noticing my diary. Still flustered, I managed to reply, ‘Yes, at least trying.’ He then surprised me by mentioning writer’s block, and when I confirmed it, he offered to show me some good short stories. I would’ve agreed to anything he suggested at that point, so I nodded. ‘By the way, I’m Yuvraj,’ he said, and his name suited him perfectly. I introduced myself as Elle—short for Elora—and we shook hands.Yuvraj then had me observe the café’s customers with him, turning the whole experience into a sort of live-action storytelling session.

There was an old couple dressed entirely in pink, a guy in a suit who, according to Yuvraj, came every Saturday for a date, only to be rejected each time. When the guy tried to pull out a chair for his date but made her fall instead, I nearly choked on my coffee, trying not to laugh. Yuvraj hid behind the menu, his eyes sparkling with amusement in the sunlight. As we watched, the girl angrily dumped her chocolate shake on him and stormed out. Just when I thought the show was over, a girl from a nearby table—his best friend, apparently—stormed over and grabbed the date girl by the hair, cursing and warning her and the guy rushed over, trying to calm his friend down. Yuvraj, laughing, whispered to me, ‘And that’s his bestie. She’s got quite the temper, doesn’t she?’ I couldn’t help but smile, watching them. They were so different from the old couple, but something about their dynamic made me feel they were meant to fall in love eventually.

But the real magic happened when the old man from the couple stood up and began singing ‘Tere Chehre Se’ to his wife. The whole café joined in, and a cake was brought out for them. The old man, with tears in his eyes, said to his wife, ‘Together we’ve walked a long path, and I promise you, even if you leave me tomorrow, I’ll sing this same song beside your grave.’ The wife looked at him with such love and sadness that I couldn’t help but get emotional. Yuvraj whispered to me that she didn’t have much time left and that she was worried about who would look after him when she was gone. It was such a powerful moment—love in its most enduring, heartbreaking form. I was still processing it when I realized I was almost late for my flight. I rushed to the counter to thank Yuvraj, only to be intercepted by a little girl asking him to pack her pancakes. Stunned, I watched as Yuvraj bent down to pick her up, introducing her as his daughter, Yukta. I didn’t know whether to feel relieved or embarrassed, but that day I saw another type of love—one-sided, perhaps, but beautiful all the same. We exchanged goodbyes, and I caught my flight. That’s the story of how I missed the obvious twist, but it made its way into my book in another form.”

Interviewer: “So, did you mention anything about that experience in the book you wrote?”

Elle: (smiling) “Maybe. It’s up to the reader to find out.” And she smiled for the picture, hiding the fact that her novel’s main protagonist has the same newly brewed coffee eyes.