I've forever adored the allure of coffee.
The delightful fragrance permeating the atmosphere.
Coffee became a shared passion between my father and me.
Our morning routine formed, excluding my mother, who favored spicy tea.
Seated on the porch, gazing ahead, it felt eons ago.
Only a month had passed since my father's demise, rendering coffee untouchable.
Glancing through the window, I saw my mother, pen in hand, absorbed in her book, repeating the same ritual for a month.
My coffee enthusiasm waned, paralleling her lost zeal for writing.
For a decade, the familiar street remained unnoticed until today, sign and cafe in sight.
Embark on a time journey with Coffee.
I stopped, wanting to distance myself from reminders of him.
Yet, I stood before the smiling barista.
"First time here?" she inquired.
I nodded.
"Care for a cup? Our special roast transports you through time. Just close your eyes, envision your destination, sip, and you're there. But don't drop the cup; it'll bring you back."
"Can coffee truly enable time travel?" I asked.
She affirmed, "Would you like a cup?"
"No."
I turned to leave.
"Trying won't hurt."
Photo cafe
Paused, I found myself in a booth with the special coffee.
A sip, a flash, and I was home.
"You dislike it?" the barista queried.
I looked up, cup in hand.
"Dad?"
I embraced him, holding onto the coffee.
"Didn't know you loved coffee this much. Should've introduced it sooner."
"You're here."
"Yes. Why wouldn't I be?"
We spent the day, reliving moments. As the day ended, I hugged him, dropped the cup, and returned to the coffee shop.
Daily, I'd leave my mom absorbed in her book and revisit my dad.
I'd ensure not to alter the past, avoiding my past self, successfully.
Back at the coffee shop, I time-traveled to my first football game.
"He says we do things together, but I hardly see him."
"He's likely busy with work," my mum replied.
I witnessed my past self's pain, caught up in a stolen dream.
"I may have fueled your love for coffee too much."
He laughed, expressing pride. I hugged him, let the cup fall, and returned to reality.
The barista asked, "Found what you sought?"
I smiled, "I did."
Home, the aroma of coffee welcomed me.
"Mum, what's this?"
"I'm making us coffee."
"But you don't drink it."
These months were tough, she confessed, trying to help.
She handed me a cup.
"You know I love you, Mum?"
"I know," she smiled.
Her notebook filled with ink, I said, "Mum?"
"Yes?"
"We'll be fine."
"Yes, we will."