The Barista

So I love coffee.

There's this barista boy I have a crush on recently.

About a month ago, I stopped by the coffeehouse I often visited. At the counter, as I was searching for the membership card in my wallet, I heard his voice for the first time.

It was a moment I remembered very fondly.

How his voice sounded like right before I looked up to face him who was standing behind the cashier. "What would you like to order?" he said. Without looking at his face, I have decided that I liked that voice. It sounded very kind, polite to the borderline of being sweet. A nice voice. A friendly voice. Then, I looked up to see his face.

"Oh my God, he is so cute and I am in trouble!" I shouted in my head. For I realized that some strange tidal waves had befallen me. I realized that I like him. It is a weird notion to like someone you've seen for less than five seconds. But it happened. And I smiled as I waited for my cappucino at the counter, my fingers busy playing with my phone, commenting on Facebook of how cute he was.

A few days later, I went back to the coffeehouse. And I saw him again. And he was as cute as ever. I walked out of the coffeehouse with a big grin on my face akin to a patient in a mental hospital. As I was driving, I would smile to myself. And I would say, damn! He's too cute! Again and again, repeatedly.

Maybe it was the green apron paired with the black shirt, black pants and black cap. I do have a thing with guys in aprons.

But I always knew it has something to do with that friendly voice.

The power of customer service, I must say. Well, I did pay almost RM 13 per cup each time I walked into that coffeehouse. That amount could very well buy me a complete meal.

And he is the first man who has the knowledge of my feelings. Usually, I kept them hidden. Thanks to my friends [no, actually no thanks at all...] my feelings were exposed. Nothing serious, though. I like him, I like his voice, I like his face, I like his manner. So what? Since when is it against the law to like someone?

Then, I begin to think about him all the time. So frequently as if I am slowly sinking into a pithole of delusional insanity. I am being delusional. I am very much aware of it. That image of him in that barista uniform is driving me crazy. That smile, awkward as it might be, refuses to leave my mind.

If he happens to be someone I know, or one of my friends, I would have said, "Fuck you. Get the fuck off my head." But I can't say that to him. Even in my head. It seems wrong. He's a stranger, a polite one at that.

So it has been a month since I have a crush on him. I might have taken a certain excessive liking to him that leads me to be unreasonably happy at times. That is the delusion. I am living in reality, though. So, in two months, he will be gone. In six months, I would not even remember who he is. In a year, another crush will most probably come by, occupying the hormonal space in my coward lonely mind.

But it's always great to know that one day, I'd be able to tell others and myself that once , I had a crush on a cute barista with a sweet friendly voice. It might have served an aimless purpose and it might have not lasted very long, but for a short period of time, without my consent, he managed to put a smile on my grim face like a mentally-ill patient in the midst of my miserable final year in law school.