A page of life at a café…

I love this café. It even has a small Internet café attached to it. It is situated at the corner of Corniche Road, Ajman, overlooking the beach.

There is something about coffee, and a beach put together… my mind wandered to a similar crevice somewhere in a now, hardened, rock called memory.

A handsome guy manned the counter while two waitresses, an Oriental and a Russian, waited at the tables.

I was unwell for over the last three days. I missed work.

Ill and exhausted with a small tearing headache, I found myself at the café.

This is the only healthy food that you can find in this part of the world. Remote and isolated, Ajman often reminds me of a POW camp… a deserted, war-torn village trying to come to terms with the New World.

Seated near the door with my back facing the sea, I ordered a veg burger. The waitress smiled at me gladly. She had few friends, I can see.

I observed the cute, small, short girl who made the burger. She first fried the French Fries. Then, she waited till they got the perfect brown that we all always try for, but seldom achieve.

My first thought was she should be in school. Not cooking in a goddamn, around-the-corner café to make a living.

She readied the burger, dressed it up well, and gave it to the waitress. The oriental waitress served it to me on a clean plate while the guy and the Russian waitress chatted with each other.

There was this uncomfortable silence in the café. The only sound was Arabic lounge (?) music that played in the background.

I was relishing the burger and suddenly my eyes caught the cute girl smiling at me. This was my second visit to the café, and maybe in this part of the world, a second visit in two days was enough to set familiarity in.

I did not dare ask her name. So I’ll call her Cutie.

Cutie must be in her very early teens. But, she looks old and mature. Life has taught her, her share of lessons.

Cutie did not look like she belonged to any particular nationality. Not that I could make out. She had that innocence about her that we adults can only search for.

There was something about Cutie. Cutie looked lonely. Too young to be working.

She looked at me and then looked out at the sea. Perhaps, she was waiting for her prince charming to come and save her. Or, she was looking at the stranger of a ship docked out at sea.

Perhaps, Cutie was a small leaf floating in a river in a fairytale of some faraway land. Or, she is a goddess testing how kind men are in this world.

Her eyes spoke a lot. A lot of dreams had fallen from them yet those eyes held back all the tears.

As I had my last bite, I exclaimed to her, “You make nice burger!” She smiled at me.

I don’t know whether she knew English. It does not matter.

We glanced at each other. And in that glance, passed a thousand unsaid words of prayer, understanding, and faith. Cutie had found a friend.

I don’t know whether she knew it. Anyways, it does not matter.