nan | 楠木

　　She did come again, but she kept him waiting for three days. She shared his table again, this time without even asking. All she did was smile, and all he could do was smile back.
　　"So what do you do?" She finally asked the inevitable.
　　"I write stuff."
　　"Oh? So that’s why you come here every day? To collect material or something, right?" She was really interested.
　　"Yeap. But it isn’t as exciting as you think."
　　"Yes it is! I’ve always loved writing."
　　"You do? So what do you write?"
　　"Well, poems, essays, that kind of stuff. But you’re the professional! You’ve got to tell me what you write." Her eyes sparkled in delight and anticipation.
　　"I write novels, you know, thrillers."
　　"What about romance?"
　　"No, I guess I am not good at expressing intimate feelings, you know."
　　"You should try, you know. Well, I gotta run!" She beamed at him and stood up.
　　"I don’t know your name yet."
　　"Lisa."
　　"What about your last name?"
　　"You ask too much! And I don’t know your name either."
　　"How stupid of me. I’m John."
　　"Last name?"
　　"Not yet." John laughed.

　　So they became friends. In the whole of spring, they would meet every morning in the restaurant, and talk for twenty minutes as she had her meal. It was still only consisted of a sandwich and a cup of coffee, but she seemed to be taking more time with every mouthful day by day. As for him, he found inspiration alright, only he found it in her, and not in his writing.

　　Summer time came, and he went to work with more vigor, just as the city was beginning to bloom. He loved summer, enjoyed the flowers, the green, and the feeling of life. He finally found a story to write, a story too romantic for his own traditional taste, but still he found interest in continuing.
　　As for her, she was also busy herself. She worked in a department store, and as the weather heated up, so did her work.
　　So they both found the twenty minutes every morning to be refreshing, and entertaining. They talked about many things, life, society, family, friends, and of course the traditional subject of love. She gradually began to enjoy his bestsellers, and shared with him her poems and essays, which he adored so much. It was a peculiar relationship, the pro and the amateur finding so much in common.
　　“You know what my dream is?” She said once.
　　“What?”
　　“When I‘ve got enough money, I’m going to open my own coffee shop, and I’m going to sit next to the window and write poems all day.”
　　“What about the customers?”
　　“I’ll leave that to my boyfriend or something.”
　　“Your boyfriend?”
　　He looked at her with such a teasing glamour in his eyes, and she blushed a little, replying in a mocking voice:” you know very well that I don’t have now, but I’ll get one soon.”
　　“I’m quite sure you will. You know what, I’ll be your best customer when your cafe opens. I’ll be there everyday, and I’ll make sure that I take the table beside the window. You know I can write all day.”
　　“Then I guess I’ve got to make money quick, huh? Or our great writer will be unable to start his next masterpiece!”

　　Summer came and gone, and refreshing Autumn took its place. John loved autumn, because he found the season of harvest and falling leaves so sentimental, so melodramatic. So full of philosophy, although he didn’t quite understand philosophy.
　　He could sit at that table, and watch the falling leaves. One leave at a time, down they came. Maybe the first few were unnoticed and not missed by others, but when the time came for them to come down in the dozens and hundreds, John always felt amiss, as if something deep down had gone away from him. So he always stared the falling leaves, taking note of every one, so that he wouldn’t miss them in the long winter to come.
　　Somehow he began to have the same feeling when it came to Lisa. He had a feeling that she was just like a leave, ready to fall and to be forgotten, so he cherished every morning together. It was so strange a feeling, a feeling he had never experienced before, the feeling of not wanting to lose.
　　Of course she noticed the change in him, but she found herself changing too. Ever since she met him, she found herself drawn to that little fast-food restaurant, although the food was neither good nor cheap. She found herself orde
ring more, and eating more slowly, just so that she could spend more time with him. She refused to admit that it was good old love that had favored her, but deep down she knew.
　　And so when she walked in and sat at his table on the last day of autumn, she couldn’t help wanting to cry.
　　He looked up.
　　“What’s wrong, dear Lisa? Why didn’t you buy some food?”
　　“John, there’s something terribly important that I want to say to you.”
　　“Yes?”
　　His eyes stared right into hers, as if able to penetrate her every defence and arrive at the very heart of her emotions. So she looked aside, and said gloomily, “I’m leaving tomorrow.”
　　“What? Where are you going?”
　　“I’m going abroad, to stay with my parents for the winter.”
　　He breathed a sigh of relief. “So you’re going abroad for the winter? Enjoy yourself, dear Lisa.”
　　“I might not be coming back. You see, my parents wants me to stay with them, and well… I don’t know if I want to live here anymore.”
　　“Oh.” He was at a loss for words.
　　“Unless… unless there is something that I cannot give up here.”
　　He looked at her again, as if trying to tell her something. But instead he changed the subject. “Eh, my book is almost finished. I think I can complete it before the end of the year.”
　　“Oh. Congratulations. Send me a copy, will you? I’ll write to you here.”
　　“Great.”