《Whimsical Beans》 Chapter One The snow is coming down heavier than it was when I left. As the snow hits my eyelashes and the cold permeates my body, I¡¯m left wondering why I didn¡¯t just stay in bed. It wasn¡¯t much warmer there, I remind myself and a warm tea is exactly what I need after the disaster of a trip I just came back from. The snow coming down obstructs my field of view but still in the distance, I find the sign. Whimsical Beans. Exactly how I remember it yet there¡¯s an unfamiliarity in the air. I¡¯m used to seeing it during the day but now everything is illuminated, reflecting off of the snow. Not only that, though. There¡¯s a crowd at 9pm on a Tuesday. I almost wouldn¡¯t have believed it¡¯s a coffee shop and not a bar if it weren¡¯t for the smell of coffee beans and cinnamon that hits you as soon as you walk up. I¡¯m home. I¡¯m finally home. After 2 dreadfully long weeks. I will never leave again. I step in the door, being hit by an overwhelming scent of coffee, tea, and something else. Something unfamiliar. Earthy. Herby? It seems as if everyone in the room turns to look at me. As if they know something that I don¡¯t. They sense that I don¡¯t belong here. Maybe I don¡¯t anymore. Dozens of unfamiliar faces directed toward me for a split second before they turned back to what they were doing. One typing so furiously I wonder if they are even writing anything of substance. Another knitting in the corner as if their life depended on it. Maybe I don¡¯t belong here, I haven¡¯t been able to write a single word or work on a single hobby of mine in years but yet, it comes to everyone here so effortlessly. Maybe they were right with their glances and initial judgements. ¡°Would you like to try one of our daily specials?¡± The barista asks, pulling my gaze away from the unrelenting typist, bringing my attention to their new menu. It includes multiple drinks I don¡¯t know how to pronounce and ¡°infusions¡± for a dollar extra. The infusions listed are very vague, it seems almost like it¡¯s an inside joke between the baristas and the regulars and I don¡¯t dare ask. ¡°Oh, sorry,¡± I say. ¡°I was really wanting a hibiscus tea, hot, actually.¡± I glance at the menu board again and I don¡¯t see it. I realize that even besides the daily specials, nothing on the menu board makes sense to me anymore. ¡°Hibiscus tea? I¡¯m not sure how to make that one but we probably have something I could use. I¡¯ll have to ask. And will that be infused?¡± she eyes me up and down, as if to ask if I really belong here and I realize I am not sure anymore. ¡°Infused? I don¡¯t quite understand, I¡¯m sorry.¡± ¡°Have you not been here before? Oh. I see. You¡¯re a writer. That¡¯s why your eyes were on Ryan over there. Would you like what he¡¯s having?¡± ¡°Just the hibiscus tea, please. Not infused, I guess. Hot, please.¡± I remind her of the temperature level again just to be sure, because all I know anymore is that I need the warmth. ¡°Sure. And you¡¯ve had this here before?¡± she asks, trying to understand why she hasn¡¯t seen me before. ¡°I have, yeah. That¡¯s one of my regular orders.¡± I hand her the $2.57 that the tea always costs. ¡°I normally come during the day.¡± I add to answer the question she¡¯s been asking with her eyes. ¡°Okay, then we have the tea bags. Sure, coming right up.¡± She grabs my money and disappears to the back. After a few minutes, my hibiscus tea is sitting on the counter. I took it, making my way to the empty table by the fireplace. I sipped, feeling the warmth fill me from the inside out. Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon. This is what home feels like. Warm tea, filling you with warmth, like a hug from a loved one or a handwritten letter. Everything suddenly feels safe and you know you¡¯re not alone. The fire crackles behind me and I¡¯m transported back to my childhood. Winter afternoons on a Saturday, curled up next to the fire with a blanket and a book, seeing the snow make its way down outside the window, while I stayed warm and safe from the elements. I was suddenly 12 again, realizing why winter was always my favorite. When I wasn¡¯t worried about the elements but rather what the elements did for me: creating beauty and the perfect atmosphere to spend the day reading. On the days when I wanted to face the snow, I¡¯d put on my snowsuit and venture outdoors, to make snow angels, letting my body become one with the snow on the ground. ¡°What is that in your cup?¡± A voice speaks to me, but I don¡¯t see anyone. ¡°Uh- hello?¡± I look around, still not seeing anyone. ¡°I said. What is that in your cup?¡± A small, black cat jumps onto the seat next to me. ¡°Are you¨C speaking to me?¡± I ask, beginning to think I¡¯ve gone crazy. Or that I actually froze to death on my way here and now I¡¯m hallucinating. ¡°WHAT IS THAT IN YOUR CUP?¡± It yells at me from across the table. ¡°Uh, hibiscus tea.¡± I look around to see if anyone else is seeing this or if it¡¯s just me, but everyone is too engrossed in what they were already doing to look. The cat puts its paw dangerously close to the mug as if it thought about tipping it over but hesitated. ¡°What does it do for you?¡± ¡°Warms me up. It¡¯s quite cold outside. How can you¨C¡± ¡°Are you new in town or something?¡± It asks, judgement in its voice. The cat thinks I¡¯m the weird one. Maybe I am, I am having a conversation with a cat. ¡°No. I¡¯ve lived here my entire life. I came back from a trip but it was only a few weeks. Do all the cats here suddenly talk now or something?¡± ¡°You don¡¯t even bother looking at the menu of places you order from? The cat asks, gesturing its paw to the menu board. I did notice that my usual drinks weren¡¯t on the menu but the current menu board is essentially gibberish. Is it written in cat language or something? I saw the infusion and herbal offerings but it¡¯s pretty vague. Now that she forced me to really look, I see the fine print. Infused tea for writers and creatives alike. Matcha with a lemon zest for magical powers. Catnip tea for feline friends WARNING: Do not drink before bed time. ¡°What does this mean? I ask, fully convinced I may be going crazy. Asking a cat for explanations of a cafe menu. ¡°Catnip tea gives me the power to talk.¡± She says, before dipping her paw into her own drink, licking her paw after. ¡°Doesn¡¯t catnip just get you high?¡± ¡°It does that as well. Only mildly, though. I could still drive if needed,¡± she says. ¡°Drive?¡± ¡°I can do whatever I want.¡± She swishes her tail and walks over to the fire. ¡°And be whatever I want.¡± ¡°Are you not a cat?¡± I ask and then look around again to see if anyone has noticed that I¡¯m talking to a cat but no one has batted an eye, still. ¡°Of course I am a cat, darling.¡± ¡°What is your name?¡± ¡°Legally, my name is Whiskers but I would prefer it if you called me Sage.¡± ¡°Legally? Like you have a birth certificate?¡± Sage thinks for a moment about this question like she¡¯s never had to think about it before. ¡°No. I guess I don¡¯t. But that¡¯s what my name was in a past life. I am Sage now.¡± A past life. Those words hit me hard and I realize that I¡¯m not only talking to a cat but a dead one? ¡°A past life,¡± I repeat, ¡°Like, you¡¯re dead or something?¡± I immediately regret asking because the answer to that scares me. If she¡¯s dead, then maybe I¡¯m also dead. ¡°Are you crazy?¡± She asks, her tail swishing, ¡°I am not dead. Why would you even ask something like that? Are you on drugs?¡± ¡°I¡¯m not really sure anymore.¡± Is all I could really say. ¡°A past life. As in, that''s what my previous owner named me. But they are gone. So, the name is gone for me too. It¡¯s Sage now.¡± ¡°Okay, Sage. I am Aurora.¡± ¡°I know,¡± Sage says, ¡°It¡¯s getting late, I am going to go have a cat nap now. I hope to see you again soon.¡± She leapt up from the fire and made her way to the front door, ushering someone nearby to open it for her to let her out. From there, her black body vanished into the darkness. I found myself worrying for her. She was small and helpless, couldn¡¯t even open a door by herself and she made no mention of a current owner. I hoped she would make it home safe in the snow, if she even had a home. She could be in the world all alone now. I pictured her leaving the warm and cozy cafe, where she sat by the fireplace and sipped tea to sleep on a picnic bench in the park, surrounded by snow, wondering if she would make it through the night until she could seek shelter again. Or maybe she did have a home and she was meeting her owner in bed, wrapped up cozy and tight in the blankets next to people who love her. I should¡¯ve asked more questions before she left. Chapter Two
Waking up, at first I felt the cold break through the layer of warmth the blanket was giving me. But then the grogginess began to set in and I thought about last night. I wonder how much of it actually happened. Did I actually go to the coffee shop last night? Did I really discover that at night the coffee shop turns magical? Did I actually meet a talking cat? I stretch, my hands hitting the top of my headboard and decide finding out the truth will be my goal of the day. It¡¯s not like I had anything better to do. I think about the last day at the bakery before my trip. ¡°We¡¯ll allow you the two weeks but you better come back, you¡¯re our best worker. Don¡¯t enjoy it out there too much.¡± The guilt sets in because I¡¯ve been avoiding telling them that I¡¯m back. I know that they need me. But I find myself putting it off. What better way to procrastinate than to uncover the truth of a magical coffee shop? Maybe then, I¡¯ll find some inspiration to write. I throw on my shoes, heading out the door, throwing my hair into a bun as I walk out. I consider for a moment if I should get properly dressed, glancing down at the sweatpants that I slept in but decide otherwise. It¡¯ll be good enough. The sun illuminates the snow surrounding the sidewalk. Winter is so weird, it¡¯s known for being cold, dark, and gloomy but there are specific moments during the day. You have to be in the right place at the right time to experience it but during those moments, there¡¯s a brightness to everything. During those moments, the sun seems to give the snow an extra boost to shine on everything surrounding it and everything feels magical. As I approach Whimsical Beans, that magical feeling fades away and I¡¯m left with nothingness as I realize the cafe is the same as it¡¯s always been. A large brick building, with multiple shops intertwined within. A bookstore, an arcade, and Whimsical Beans. The only indication that the coffee shop is there is the little chalkboard in front of the door indicating what the daily specials are. TODAYS SPECIALS: MACCHIATO- $3 HOT OR ICED LAVENDER LATTE- $4 HOT OR ICED PEPPERMINT TEA- $2 HOT As I go inside, everything is as it¡¯s always been. The same menu board they¡¯ve always had, no indication of anything infused, and the hibiscus tea is in bold letters in front of me. The patrons with their laptops, working at normal speed or procrastinating while taking sips of their drink, savoring their drink in between their work. ¡°Can I have the caramel macchiato, hot, please?¡± I say to a barista I¡¯ve seen many times before but can¡¯t place her name, I look for a name tag but I¡¯m left with no indication. ¡°Of course, would you like whipped cream on that?¡± she asks. ¡°No, just as it comes is fine,¡± I say before blurting out ¡°sorry, but does the menu change at night?¡± ¡°No, we serve the same menu all hours of the day. We close at 7, though, so we aren¡¯t really open during night time.¡± She says, sending panic shooting through me as I realize I may have just hallucinated everything. ¡°I was here around 9pm last night.¡± I feel the room begin to close in on me, the panic setting in that maybe I am losing my mind. ¡°Yeah, we would¡¯ve been closed by then,¡± she says but then following up her thought she adds, ¡°If closing took extra long, a nice member may have served you but we would¡¯ve been closed for 2 hours by then.¡± ¡°Okay. Thank you,¡± is all I could muster up to say before paying, grabbing my drink, and heading home to gather myself. My pace increases as I try to catch back up with reality. Did I fall into some type of black hole last night? The coffee shop turns into some sort of magic portal into a universe where the drinks are magical and cats can talk now? Even thinking it feels insane, there wasn¡¯t any way I could really talk to anyone to confirm these thoughts. Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit. Maybe it was all a dream and the stress from traveling just really got to me. Jet lag, is all. I head back inside, drink in hand, and open the window for some fresh air. Clarity. I lit a candle¨Cbergamot and lavender scented. I bought this when my panic attacks were at their worst. I heard that lavender was very calming and bergamot is meant to uplift the mood and calm anxieties. Lighting this candle has become a ritual of mine whenever I feel myself begin to slip and panic again. I reach for my journal to write the first words I¡¯ve really written in months. IDEA: A magical coffee shop ran by a talking cat named Sage. Maybe that¡¯s exactly what all of this was. A fever-dream of a book idea that had been hiding deep in my subconscious. Maybe the trip wasn¡¯t useless after all. I hear a loud crash behind me and turn to find my potted plant smashed to the ground, thrown off my windowsill by the wind. ¡°Meow.¡± Not the wind, a black cat, looking directly up at me, pleading eyes to challenge to question all my thoughts about my current reality. ¡°Sage? Is that you?¡± I ask, but looking into her eyes, I know the answer. She looks up at me, not answering. Typical cat. ¡°Can you actually talk? What happened last night? Was that real?¡± I plead for her to answer me but instead I¡¯m met with just the faintest idea of a nod in her. ¡°Could you please answer me?¡± She doesn¡¯t, but at this point, I know I need to figure out what¡¯s happening at the cafe. What is happening during the after hours when the workers think they¡¯re closed? Was the barista lying to me and she knows exactly what goes on? Or are the night time workers not actual workers at the cafe at all? Did I step into another reality? So many questions, and I¡¯m just left with a cat who won¡¯t talk to me and my plant smashed on the ground left for me to clean up. As the sun begins to set, I make my way to the cafe once again, alongside my new found friend in search for the truth. There¡¯s no way I could actually be going absolutely insane when the cat remembers me. She knows the truth. She knows me. She showed up because she wanted me to go back, I just know it. She wants me to uncover the truth. If anyone ever told me that they¡¯d come across a magical cafe and met a talking cat that they hang out with, I¡¯d think there was something seriously wrong with them. Now, it¡¯s my reality. I¡¯m the weirdo talking to cats and hoping to sip on magical teas. I thought back on my first night back and that man who was sitting in his seat in the corner of the cafe, furiously writing as if his life depended on it. That wasn¡¯t normal. I¡¯ve met other writers and sure, they write more than I do, I think you have to to call yourself a writer. But¨C that was unlike anything I¡¯d ever seen. I wanted to be him. Writing has been hard for me lately. The entire purpose of my 2-week trip. I¡¯d heard you had to really experience something to really be a writer. I hoped to spark that creative drive and have new experiences to write about. ¡°Write what you know,¡± they say. I¡¯ve lived a sheltered life, quite boring by most people''s standards. I¡¯m nothing extraordinary, I was a solid B student, got my work in on time but it wasn¡¯t always perfect. Finished school, got a job at the local bakery. It doesn¡¯t bring in a lot of money but pays the rent and gets me through my day to day. I live with a roommate who I wouldn¡¯t necessarily call a friend but she¡¯s nice enough. Clean. She pays the rent on time. The kind of roommate anyone would want. I needed more, though. Living a plain life doesn¡¯t make for good writing. I¡¯d heard of this place in the forest where people live, completely disconnected from modern society. I thought staying with them, seeing how people who are extraordinary in my mind live would spark something. It turns out being in the forest away from technology in the winter is terrible and it did not spark anything in me aside from the need to get away from there. It takes a special kind of person to be disconnected from everything and that isn¡¯t me. This, though, is different. This could inspire that spark. I could be extraordinary. I could be anything I want. Sage talked about driving, if a cat could talk and drive, there¡¯s no saying how much I could achieve. Of course, the drawback would be that it only lasts for 4 hours tops, but I could write so many novels in those 4 hours. I could be so many things. I could start with my experiences at the cafe and the people I meet. I could write about a talking cat. If I wrote it as non-fiction, it would likely get people to pick up the book but I may become known for being a little insane. I don¡¯t know if I want that. A fiction book? I¡¯d have to make her more likeable, she¡¯s a little too sassy for the average reader but it could be a hit. It¡¯d be magical, it¡¯d have to be, right? I got to the counter, the cat following shortly behind. ¡°Hello! Welcome to Whimsical Beans, what can I get you for tonight?¡± ¡°Infused catnip tea for her and-¡± I almost ordered my own but stopped myself, realizing I don¡¯t know anything about it yet. I don¡¯t know if there are side-effects. ¡°Just one regular hot tea for me.¡± I grabbed our mugs and went to the table we were at the night before, right next to the floor, I imagine cats like the extra warmth. She jumps onto the table, taking short licks from her mug.