The Rainbow Chronicles

Stella

The aroma of freshly baked bread permeated the air – savoury baguettes with crisp crust and cotton soft essence were neatly rolled on the bottom shelf of the glistening glass-case. An assortment of pastries - lemon meringue tarts, caramel éclairs, chocolate gateau and a kaleidoscopic rainbow of macarons, paraded on the next. The top one boasted flaky Danishes, puffed croissants and warm toasted bagels which tempted the chance visitor, luring one to stay but a little longer. From behind the counter, the percolating sound of fragrant brewing beverages blended with the mellow flow of distant Italian and French chansons that unobtrusively created romantic ambiance and a feeling of utter tranquillity. The waft of ground coffee and some rich exotic cocoa exhilarated the senses and invigorated the mind. 

He saw her casually standing outside his favourite patisserie. She immediately attracted his attention. Graceful, indeed, she could be called, but it was not merely her stunning appearance that made a lasting impression. There was something in her eyes – not something, actually, a whole world unravelling – vast, benevolent, inviting. Ever since he first spotted her, he sought to find her time and again. The days she wouldn’t come, he acutely felt her absence, albeit they had yet to be introduced. He considered approaching her many a time, but he wasn’t sure if someone like him could ever deserve someone like her. To his mind, she could have anyone, though it was her air of independence that gave her a unique attraction. After a prolonged absence, having become fully aware how much it was that he missed her, his heart was set on making the crucial decision that was undoubtedly going to change the course of the years in the foreseeable future.

“What’s her name? – inquired he when Lilly, the bubbly waitress, came over to his table to refill his cup.

Quizzically, she looked around searching for the object of his question.

“Whose name are you after, sir?”

He was certainly not used to being called “sir”. His age was often mistaken, but it was his first year on his own, in this foreign city where he knew no one, away from those dear to his heart and those bidden to his mind. He lived alone in a small room above an old-fashioned tailor’s shop. Everything about this city was brand new to him. It was all tall buildings rising high above the ground like sentinels on an important mission, at whose feet tiny robot-like creatures busied themselves devoted to making money, spending money, enjoying money… The only few places where he felt closer to home was the tailor’s shop with its vintage vibe and the French café he had once found getting lost. There he could reminisce about the world of the past – the one he knew thanks to the books which he would avidly read on his flat screen gadget but had been written in an age where he felt with his whole being he belonged much more. There was something about the way people communicated with each other that had a particular draw for him. Civility, gentility, a warmth that were as good as gone now. He had trouble asking the amiable waitress about a simple name, whereas the couples from the pages spoke eloquently, effortlessly, given they had no access to a search engine or a thesaurus to aid them.

His small room looked more out of those same books as it completely clashed with the average minimalistic Feng Shui décor rules favoured in most apartment buildings around. True, there was not much inside, but he appreciated the remarkable tapestry decorating one of the walls. It was colourful, must have been at least. Many years had laid their layers of dust on it and its consequent dullness was now as if hiding something beyond the meticulously embroidered autumn landscape. The former amber mantle of the trees was currently darkened, corrupted, as such is the power of gold on those long in its possession. The once azure sky seemed overcast, murky, as one’s soul gets when it loses focus on what’s truly important in life and starts coveting what can be touched over what should be felt and thought about. He would often gaze at the tapestry, each time uncovering more and more patterns woven into the probably mundane work of some bored lady a couple of decades earlier. 

A modest bed, a bookcase of sorts attached to a wardrobe, a table that he used as a desk on more than one occasion and another screen glowing as if compulsively notifying him of projects due, deadlines approaching; was what the rest of his temporary abode offered. There was, however, something important missing to make him feel completely at home. It was still a place that had a distinctive character, but he needed personality.

He showed Lilly whose name he was seeking. Her whole-hearted laugh was both a little unsettling and somewhat encouraging at the same time.

“It’s Stella, of course! Everyone knows that.”

“Do you think it will be okay if I made an acquaintance?” – the young man pursued.

A silvery laughter filled up the café. “Go right ahead. But bear in mind she is quite capricious when it comes to men. She doesn’t spend time with just about anybody, you know!”

The words echoed in his ears as he closed the glass door behind him.

“Hi, Stella…”

Her eyes sparkled as if she had met an old friend she hadn’t seen in ages. He hadn’t expected such a warm greeting but was certainly revelling in it. Perhaps his intuition had not let him astray. He made no promises. He didn’t need to. His heart had given her all the guarantees she desired. She had been friendly to many, but had kept them at a distance. It was his soul that had connected with hers and she knew she had found a place where she belonged, and he had found someone who would make any squalid dump a home. Someone he could communicate with as easily as his beloved characters did.

Lilly looked from behind the counter, heart content, eyes filled with sheer joy. She lingered an extra while washing the plate, observing a young student and his new dog leave the café, side by side forever.