By Yasmin Nayrouz
Each time I open that old, wooden door to my favorite café, I always take a piece of it home with me. The smell of roasted coffee beans lingers between the coils of my curls. The scent sleeps in the stitches of my clothes. Sinks into my skin.Â
However, it’s not their delicious coffee and chai lattes that I remember fondly. It’s the moments you and I shared in those tiny wooden chairs with their worn leather cushions.Â
The local coffee shop was our escape from home. Not that we despised being home, but we gained privacy that the thin walls prevented us from having. Sister to sister, we became vulnerable and honest with each other.Â
Even more than that, we dreamed. Local artists hung their paintings from the dull wallpaper of the café, and it inspired us to have bright hopes. We talked about our crazy ideas of writing a novel together, opening our own café, or traveling the world. All were seemingly attainable, but we both knew our situation.
Now, we’re hours away from each other, but I still hold onto our dreams. Each time I think of our desired futures, I smell the comforting aromas of that café.
Yasmin Nayrouz is a sophomore studying English & Textual Studies and MND Journalism. She enjoys reading, art, and exploring new places.
