Cafe Angelina

Angelina sat at her table in the corner of the café. The spotty waiter brought over her order, the same for the last forty years. One hot chocolate. It came served in its own pitcher alongside a small pot of fresh and perfectly whipped cream. Angelina lifted the cup to her lips and inhaled the remarkable concoction. The rich, velvet chocolate smoothly slid down her throat, sending her to a cloud of chocolate delirium.


? FLASHBACK
“The curtains and tablecloths will be pristine white, everything will be white. Except the sign, the sign will be sky blue and it will say, “Café Angelina!”

“Café Angelina?”

“Oui, ma cherie. The most beautiful and elegant café will be name after the most beautiful and elegant woman in all of Paris!”

Her rosy blush only made him love the sight of her more. Standing in the middle of the empty room filled with cobwebs and a broken window, the dreams of Nicholas and Angelina were forming.
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The hot chocolate was capable of kindling memories of a fleeting, passionate love that had lasted a lifetime in Angelina’s heart.

The last sip filled Angelina’s stomach. She stood, paid five euros ten, of course with a large tip and went on her way. Outside, the brisk air cut coldly against her face and she pulled her scarf further up over her neck. Walking down Rue Ampere in one of the world's busiest cities, Angelina was unnoticed. Breathing in the air of the city she had once fallen in love with, she remembered the man she once adored.


? FLASHBACK
“Okay ma cherie, here is your hot chocolate.”

In one year they had done it. Café Angelina was their baby and she was to be christened tomorrow, open for the impatient customers.

“It’s perfect Nicholas.”

Sipping the decadent hot chocolate she thought of the late nights and their complete over spending of the budget. It was all worth it as she stared into the eyes of the man she loved.
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Holding back tears for a life she could have lived, Angelina hastened to reach her train. Paris overwhelmed her, she had lived her life. Now an old woman, Angelina had no more hope of finding her lost love. She only ever allowed herself the yearly trip for a taste of the hot chocolate Nicholas had made her as Café Angelina’s first customer.


Nicholas had vanished two years after Café Angelina opened. Months of searching led people to believe he was dead, but Angelina knew, she still knew, he was alive. Somewhere, with someone else perhaps. Devastated from his disappearance, she had sold their café. Too many memories of the love of her life were implanted in every recipe, every white curtain and every glass window. The spirit of Nicholas had never left Paris and that’s why she could never stay.

Angelina collected herself, it was not dignified for women of her age to be seen crying on the streets of Paris. She hurried to catch her train.

Angelina walked across the bridge over the river Seine, leaving the picturesque view of Paris. But not before she was captured in a painting. Caught by an old man sitting on a rusting chair on the edge of the river, his gentle strokes painted her as a young woman sipping hot chocolate outside Café Angelina.

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