Reconnection

• Stephanie Tran, Grade 10, Sefton High School
• Short Story
• 2017

Finalist in the 'Write Here Write Now 2017' competition

The tiny cafe huddled despondent among the huge city buildings. Its permanence paradoxical to the evolving urban landscape it inhabited. Washed out under the overcast sky, it hunched in itself, fighting against the drizzle. Half a dozen customers glanced up as the door swung open, heralded by a blast of cold wind.
A young woman entered. The sharp staccato of her stilettos reverberated throughout the room as she strode across the smooth surface of the glistening floorboards towards the vacant table at the back. Her rich auburn hair gathered loosely the nape of her neck. She removed her beige overcoat and draped it on the back of the chair and descended into the seat. Summoning the waiter, she ordered a chai latte.
Years ago, she spent countless Sunday afternoons in the presence of her grandfather in this very cafe. Being avid readers, they'd spend hours bantering over worn copies, sipping their hot drinks. He told her stories of his journeys abroad transporting her to the bustling streets of Oslo, Prague and Amsterdam granting her a much needed escape from her menial life. In the wake of his death, she inherited a small fortune along with a small black moleskin notebook that smelt of clove cigarettes and spicy aftershave, its leather cover worn from years of use. Still coming to terms with her loss, she took the hour long journey to the humble cafe where she spent the majority of her Sunday afternoons as a child in the hopes of reconnecting with her past.
She flipped to a random page and began reading.
19th May 1976, Arriving in Singapore.
Immediately she was transported to vibrant streets of Singapore. She was no longer sitting in a chair at her childhood cafe, but weaving through the narrow aisles of a bazaar teeming with spices and colourful wares. She was enveloped in the cacophony of merchants pitching their well-priced goods and the intoxicatingly sweet scent of colourful confections.
Her escapade was abruptly interrupted by a tap on the shoulder.
“Your drink, Miss,” said the waiter tentatively.
"Thank you,” she replied, dismissing him with a nod.
She rose, placing a bill substantial enough to cover the cost of the drink and a sufficient tip on the table. She was no longer that little girl, content with living vicariously through her grandfather's stories. She was a young woman now, who yearned for her own adventure.
Placing the moleskin back into her purse, she ventured out into the biting wind in search of her own journey.