Tiramisu

Damian sat beside his grandmother. The silence in the room was frequently being broken by the machine. Everyone went home, but Damian insisted to stay by her side, again for the 3rd night.

His grandmother laid on the bed, still, uneven breathing. The room felt too close, almost caging him. He holds her hand close to his heart, almost begging her to feel his heartbeat; As if that would wake her up. But nonetheless her fingers were unable to feel him. The silence felt too loud that day. His gaze travelled to her face-pale, distant. Her eyes no longer held joy, they were closed.

The hospital smelled like antiseptic.

And suddenly-

he was ten again, sitting beside his grandmother, as she applied ointment on his scraped knee. His face showed the traces of his dried tears. His grandmother smiled at her little boy.

"I told many times not to ride Louis's cycle. It's too big for you. See now, what happened to my little boy." She said, as she was blew the wound. He sniffed in response.

She chuckled,

"Alright, young man. You should be careful the next time otherwise, I'm not saving you from trouble." She says, keeping the first-aid box in a drawer.

"Thanks, grandma. I promise I'll be careful." He said with a low voice and showed his pinky finger.

"Mom said you are sick, will you be careful?" He tilted his head, his eyes big and sparkly. His grandmother smiled at his question.

"Yes, my little boy. I'll be careful." She pinched his cheeks like a small baby.

She was still smiling in his memory, sunlight warm on her face.

Beep*

The sound pulled him off.

It was a notification from his phone. He picked up his phone to check, it was his mother.

'Eat on time, don't starve yourself.'

That was all, but it still meant a lot. He exhaled the tension in his shoulders. He stood up from the chair, and threw on his overcoat. His fingers tightened around the door knob before closing it again.

"I'm grandson of the patient in room 006, I'll be going out for a while, please inform me if anything happens. " He said to the receptionist before heading out of the hospital.

He stepped outside the hospital and exhaled a breath even he didn't know he was holding. It was past 11 at night. The streets were not silent but not loud either, just enough for him to spiral back into his thoughts, without the silence eating his mind.

He was entering a nearby café, just then a person walking out bumped into him.

"Sorry, I wasn't looking. " The woman said immediately.

"Are you entering the Café? It's closing time." She added.

He answered after a beat.

"Oh, I didn't notice. It's fine, I'll go back." He turned his shoe to go back.

"Wait!" She uttered as her eyes scanned him.

His eyes seemed hollow, his shoulder slouched. His dark under eyes screamed he hadn't slept in days. Hair slightly disheveled, enough to know his guard was down.

"Actually...." She stopped before continuing.

"You can come, I'll bring your order." She opened the closed door again.

He entered, his steps heavy and slow. He discretely pulled a chair, and sat on it. She observed him, not with intent but just out of habit.

He looked like a man drained but-with dignity intact.

"What's your order, sir?" She questioned while tieing her work apron.

"Umm,…a macchiato." He quietly replies.

"Anything else?" She picks up the glass.

"No."

That was all he said, but she did hear something more.

"Coming right up." She replied out of habit, nothing more.

His head down as he kept staring at the table.

"You ordered wrong." She places the cup on his table.

He looks up, confused.

"Coffee on an empty stomach? That’s just asking to collapse."

She slides the plate toward him.

"This one’s on the house."

"Why?" He questioned looking at the plate of tiramisu.

"Because I said so." She stated-no smile, no explanation.

She turned to sit on a nearby table. Far enough to not disturb him yet close enough to announce her presence.

He watches her every move as if studying her. Her face was calm, not smiley but calm. Almost as if she practiced it. It was quite the first time a stranger comforted him without actually saying a word.

"How do you know?" His hand gripping the cup. Her face turns to him slowly as she sipped her own drink.

"I studied psychology long enough to read people." She replies after a beat.

He chuckles before commenting.

"Should've been a therapist."

"Not necessarily though." She remarked.

Silence filled the room, except it was not awkward but strangely comforting.

He took a bite of the cake, the sweetness spreading his mouth almost immediately. A stark contrast to his life in hospital rooms. No wonder he preferred sweet coffee over bitter one.

"Your face screams it tastes good." She keeps her cup on the counter before taking off her apron.

"That's because, it does." He admits.

The silence came back.

Few minutes passed.

Damian stands up from his chair, walking towards the counter.

"Your total is 5.95 dollars. " She checks the computer before looking at him.

"And the cake?" He tilted his head.

"Told you, it's on the house." She spoke looking straight in his eyes.

"Name?" She questioned unusually.

She never asked that to other customers.

"Damian, Damian D'Angelo." He replied, no hesitation. He handed her his card to pay.

"Damian." She muttered, almost to herself. That name tasted familiar.