The morning at the Black Café Coffee starts with the rich aroma of the expensive Kopi Luwak, or the Civet coffee, prepared from the trusted and truest of coffee beans from Coorg. Every morning at the café, amidst the usual bustle, a sleepy customer would shuffle in with sleepy eyes or a prim, poised businessperson would strut in feeling important and heavy with a sleek laptop.
All they eyed for was a black coffee, mostly without sugar.
Coffee, smug with self-importance, would brew gently, spreading her aroma, wanting to be desired and loved more by all. She was the darling of the Café, the sweetheart of all sleepy heads, spectacled nerds, bohemian creative artists and alert, fastidious professionals, eccentric professors and bored housewives.
There were also dreamy looking lovers hand-in-hand walking in and stealing furtive glances at each other and ordering a cup of latte to be shared by both. It was those moments that the puffy and golden Croissant would wait. It was his chance to show his golden alluring layers to Coffee as they melted away in the mouths of the lovers. From inside the glass dome, he tried her best to attract Coffee’s attention.
Coffee arrived royally.
She had such a rich and expensive looking new vehicle, a cup crafted out of passion and had the richness of golden filigree work. Liquid, gleeful brown, and unabashedly hot—she carried the surreal confidence of someone who knew she was thoroughly indispensable to people and to the bakery. Sometimes brewed in a French press and delicately emptied from a pot, Coffee was the heartbeat of the café.
And Croissant? Croissant was the charm, the mega melody, the soul stirrer. He would flake a little extra whenever Coffee passed by him. “Bonjour, mon amour,” Croissant whispered in a crisp accent that hung in the air like the scent of butter.
Coffee would steam bashfully, swaying thickly in her ornamental cup.
“You always know how to stir me up, Croisso.”
There was always the tradition of exchanging glances and wafts of lingering aromas. Croissant dreamt of happy mornings melting in mouth with coffee. Coffee seduced him with creamy whispers, making Croissant frisk and frolic. A perfect pair to take the town in their stride. The couple who would see a long road together wrapping up each other in buttery smooth romancing riot.
Everything was at its perfect best, and their romance was the talk of the town until the Chocolate and Sugar-dusted doughnut rolled in. He arrived on a fine Monday close to Christmas. Frosted white, with rainbow sprinkles and his sugary mannerisms. He was boisterous, persuasive, and unapologetically delicious.
Croissant watched in agony as Coffee seemed to slip into an immediate trance, giving way to an unbridled enchantment. Coffee smiled more these days. She let her steam blow by the Donut shelf. She kept on glancing at Donut furtively and laughed recklessly at his crappy jokes. She even allowed him to dip in her once and left Croissant stunned, heartbroken and feeling ridiculous as the Mango Pastry, Blueberry Cheesecake, Butterscotch Biscoff all chuckled together at the shameless exhibition of their blatant lovemaking.
Croissant felt something crushing inside him.
A sad, salty heartbreak.
That night Croissant just couldn’t sleep in his wicker basket the whole night. He had turned sour. He tossed and and wriggled and felt his fold crumbling and drying, the butter evaporated leaving him tight and burdened.
“I guess I am too old-fashioned and believe in subtle gestures and soft advances,” he muttered. “Who would want refined and subtle advances when the world is driven by coloured coating, frosting and bright shiny sprinkles!”
The next morning, he didn’t fluff. He receded to the back and hid behind the stale biscotti and watched the loudmouthed Donut blabbering away a loud story about he was never to be ignored and gleefully gleamed brown as Coffee came and sat blushing beside him.
Croissant turned away in bitter butter tears. Masala Chai, sweet and spicy, carefully crawled up to him in her earthen terracotta mug.
“Rough days, huh!” She tried to sympathise.
Croissant let out a big sigh. “Coffee doesn’t love me anymore.”
Chai nodded understandingly.
“Donut has a spark nobody can deny, but wait Croissant, don’t fret. This is just a passing phase, and you are anytime deeper and sweeter from inside compared to any Donut. Coffee is sure to come around.”
Croissant however wasn’t that sure. But Chai’s words made him hopeful. He still looked at Coffee with the same love lost eyes and waited. Days passed. Donut and Coffee seemed to be getting more and more inseparable. Croissant began to harden from inside as well as outside.
Then, one early cloudy Friday morning, the story changed.
The café door abruptly swung open when a man in a faded tweed coat trudged in, bleary-eyed and hollered. “Something strong … and with it something comforting.”
The Café counter barista immediately poured a steaming mug of Coffee and looked for “something comforting”. He looked at Donut but decided he was too loud and then at Muffin and decided he was too sticky. Then his eyes fell on Croissant — quiet, demure and suave but very inviting and comforting.
The barista smiled in relief. “You are exactly what Mr Tweed needs.”
Minutes later, Coffee and Croissant were sitting side by side on a table by the window. The cloud suddenly cleared and the warmth of the sun brightened them both. Croissant gave a furtive glance at Coffee. “You’re seem to be quiet today,” he asked with a pounding heart. Coffee swirled a creamy layer and murmured. “I missed you.”
Croissant blinked in disbelief. “Do you actually mean that?”
“Yes, every morning, of late, I realised I have been dishonest to myself.”
Silence ensued between them but they instinctively slid closer. “I realized all that glitters is not gold and all that is subtle is not shallow.”
Croissant instinctively opened his layers and embraced Coffee. He let her soak in. It was their moment of quiet companionship. The kind that never needs drama. Just warmth.
Coffee whispered a staggered “I love you” before losing herself in Croissant’s layers.
By Bidisha Dutta
An avid traveller and a lover of literature, Bidisha Dutta works as an Editor with a renowned publishing firm. . Writing and reading is her second nature, and she just cannot sit in peace without these. She can be reached at bidishadutta2000@gmail.com.
