"Rain sure is a damn beautiful thing - but unfortunately also quite wet," the man stated light hearted, as he led a hand through his dripping dark hair.
"It sure is! Maybe you would like to be seated at the table in the window?" I asked putting away the tray as Marc placed the steaming americano at the counter. The man gratefully grabbed around the warm glass with his hands, which were red from the cold, "sounds great."
Quickly I crossed the small open space reaching two window tabled at the right side of the door. They were both small for two persons - the one furthest from the door with the sofa - was almost hidden in shadows of the corner, as the sofa took up some of the light from the window. Grabbing the candle from the table I ignited it and smiled widely at the sight of the dancing light over the surface. The colorful mosaics looked beautiful reflecting the light onto the wall in every color. The flame happily burned bathing the table and the paired green leather sofa in a soft orange light - that was when I saw it for the very first time.
It lay there perfectly lonely and welcomingly at the table, The brown leather covering the journal looked soft and it was easy to see it had been used often; the pages lightly crumbled making the little book look thicj and filled with words. I quickly looked around the room almost expecting to see someone claim it as theirs. But no one seemed to have even noticed the small discovery of mine. The man with the americano was still chatting with Marc. It was probably someone who had forgotten it - how often had I not found lost purses, scarves - and even occasionally a camera?
But yet this item was different - it seemed so ... personal. Maybe it was a diary? A notebook? How could you forget such a thing? A new thought occurred to me; had someone left it behind on purpose? Maybe someone wanted this little book to be found by a new person.
The light was dancing over the leather surface of the little book, making it look almost magical. I couldn't take my eyes off it mesmerized by the idea of what was inside. It tingled in my fingers to get a hold of it and without giving it further thought I snatched up the journal. The leather feeling soft against my fingers. I held it tightly almost afraid to damage it if I let it slip.
It really was a strange item to find, I thought as my eyes eagerly ran over the journal in my hands taking in every small scribbled word on the cover, and the small doodles forming childish skew stars. I smiled as it hit me, that apparently some still had time to keep journals. I liked that idea; that not everyone had their stuff online or was too busy with the race of life to take the time simply - sit down and write. Old fashioned and intimate. Maybe it was some hipster actually carrying out what most dreamed about doing - but a few actually did - to keep a journal was unique and personal. People with journals had physical prove, that they had thoughts and stories inside of them. Therefore they became interesting. And I was curious. God was I curious.
I quickly loosened the small, fragile leather strap that fought to keep the journal together. I told myself it was merely with the intention of finding the owner - maybe there was a name? An address? Maybe even some rapidly scribbled digits in a corner? Who could possibly own this mysterious item? My eyes impatiently ran over the pages, which were filled with the same kind of handwriting. Though it changed a little from time to time as did the color of ink.
In the dimmed light I could hardly read the scribbled words, which were scattered over the thick pages of the journal withholding all these interesting kinds of secrets and thoughts. My finger glided softly over the ink and coffee stains, small doodles and a few games of tic tac toe, which were visible in the margins. I smiled widely at the childish games - maybe it was someone with a kid? Maybe the person worked with kids? Maybe it was someone who had been losing tic tac toe every single time playing itas little against uncle - and now practiced with no secific reason?
"So was this table free?"
The chuckling voice snapped me out of my small investigation , making me smack the journal shut as if I had been caught doing something I should't. I felt my cheeks flush as I sent an apologetic smile at the man with the damped hair and americano.
"Absolutely sir - if you need anything please let me know."
Questions were spinning around in my head; who could possibly be the writer? Who had left behind this charming little treasure? And why? I hadn't even been standing with more than a couple of seconds, before the interruption I reckoned and yet could hardly wait to explore the filled pages again.
As the man seated I returned to behind the counter looking fascinated at the object in my hands - and as on cue the door swung open. The sound of falling rain grew louder as they entered; it was another group of eight uni kids all of them with dripping hair and laughing, their cheeks flushed, nose tips red and out of breath. They were going to keep us occupied with orders for sure. Without much thought I quickly went to the backroom and stuffed the journal into my bag - I would check it for any information concerning the owner when I get home.