i was nervous.

my fingers trembled slightly
as i lifted the cup to my lips.

the piping hot liquid touching my tongue
burnt me
but the sensation felt akin to a physical expression of my
incorrigible thoughts

i did not dare look up, so
i kept my head down for as long as i could

perhaps i lifted my head because my neck felt too tired
or as my skin pricked under the keen eyes of the pretty barista that circled my table 5 times

but i looked up
with bated breath

the empty seat across me greeted me first
the people around me never ceased their conversation

the pubescent teenager sat diagonally across me never paused his incessant chatter
the elusive woman looking to be a tortured artist in her 30s had her eyes glued to the book in hand

i turned to my right

the pretty barista was at the furthest end of the cafe
she had her back against me.