Night at the Morland Cafe

Do you remember me? The shy, single-dimpled Asian girl you met at the Morland Cafe. She was crying over a recent break-up with some blonde boy who cheated on her. He cheated on her with an Asian girl with two dimples.

You brought her tissues and she thanked you and she blew her nose. You took a tissue yourself to wipe away her smudged mascara. She gave you a smile for your kindness. You convinced her to forget the stupid boy. He didn’t know what angel looked like, even if she was standing two feet in front of him.

You were the one. My Prince Charming in a backstreet cafe whose weathered, knowing eyes could see me for who I truly was. Who I was. Whatever that means. We must've exchanged about ten words total, but your arm around my shoulders brought more comfort than words could have ever done. At that time, all I wanted was to be in your arms. I thought that all you wanted was me in your arms, too.

So I let you hold me. I let you hold me, and only me, throughout the night. I woke up with you still holding me. You kissed my forehead when my eyes fluttered open, and I knew that from that moment on, I’d never accept kisses from any other pair of lips.

You handed me a slip with your number on it. That slip was your promise, my key to a land of fairy tales.

I guess you could say that the key wouldn’t turn the lock.

I wonder if you’ve met a new girl.

I wonder how many dimples she has.