The sun rose, and Lars staggered to the bathroom. He swiped his hands on his face. His chin and jawline pricked with the sprouts of a three-day beard, his eyes throbbed with redness.

He made the worst decision of wanting to heal his pain by inflicting himself more.

For three days straight, scotch and gin, alcohol kept him company, and once more, he wondered why he could be like ordinary people and get over whatever tormented him.

Again he had to know the reason for his suffering, but he didn't. It had nothing to do with his money loss, even if it did instigate his current state.

No, it was something else, something more profound that stabbed him at regular intervals.

"Man, you reek," he whispered. He had no strength to shave, but he managed to take a shower, one that lasted.

Half an hour later, Lars got dressed. He made sure to pick something clean. Despite the heat, he chose a black tee and jeans, which suited his current mood.

The man didn't do himself up; it wasn't like she cared. He got in his car; the miles multiplied instead of decreasing. Never had the drive been so long, but he got there.

Suddenly he wondered what her thoughts were. He had made so many promises and stopped going to the truck abruptly. The woman probably saw him as a charlatan.

He queued up.

"Oh, a revenant," Palesa said and eyed the man who looked as though someone stranded him on a desert island for the past days.

"Eh, hi. Thulile can I speak to you," he asked.

Thulile feigned to ignore him while she decided on which attitude to adopt. Constantly stepped on by one way or another by men, she wished the cycle to stop, and it started with Lars.

The woman who already gave Lars a piece of her trust didn't wish for bad habits to install themselves between them.

And so she chose to show her discontent as she scribbled on Lars' cup, "Palesa, can you give this to him."

Lars took the cup and turned it right away.

Idiot.

"Haha, very funny. Is it a prediction or a piece of your mind I have here?"

Thulile came to the front, "listen, we're not working together, and seeing how things are going, we never will."

"Oh, don't be so fatalistic. I've been through some shit. I need someㅡ."

Lars paused. Was he really going to impose the idea that he needed comfort and thought she could procure him some. He knew it wasn't reasonable.

The woman observed him; the facial hair and hollow traits spoke for themselves. Lars wasn't lying, something was wrong, but he came.

It seemed every man around except Elije made an exception for her. Lars' eyes held so much suffering one could think he lost someone dear. Again, he had the gaze which screamed for help.

Thulile had nothing, nor ship, raft, or life jacket for the man.

There was nothing she could do exceptㅡ.

"Drink."

"What?"

"Drink your coffee," Thuile replied and went to the back.

Lars stepped aside to let the people order.

The man looked about him; a few chairs and tables would be perfect. Lars took his coffee and sat on the curb. His head still throbbed, and the sun hit hard on the back of his head.

He popped off the lid of his coffee and looked at the cup. The word idiot faced him like a mirror; if only he could be someone else. Someone reliable that someone could love, someone he could love.

Lars stared down at the brew. Instead of the usual dark matter, it was deep marron under the light mousse on the surface. The coffee made Lars think of a pint of Guinness. He drank, though, without milk; the coffee seemed creamy. And it tasted as though it had a light hint of toffee.

Thulile used hotter, more slurry temperatures to bring out the sweet notes of the coffee. She sifted the fines and boulders. It gave the drinker the impression of drinking caramel coffee.

The liquid went down Lars' throat and spread through his body only to finish its course and settle in his stomach, but his heart held the heat the longest. He placed his hand on his chest; the feeling was unsettling yet reassuring.

"Are you okay?"

The man turned his head to the side only to find Thulile sitting next to him. She didn't have a hat. It was the first time Lars saw the top of her head and her entire face.

"Are you okay?" She repeated.

All Lars managed was a nod. His breath hitched and remained stuck in his throat. The man didn't expect her to come out. Thulile always caught him off the guard, and what made the man blush at that instant was she didn't even know the effect she had on him. Surprised, the man would probably cough in her face if he spoke.

Thulile captured his attention from their first encounter because she didn't want it, and Lars, like a fool, couldn't do anything else than seek her.

The man looked at his cup and twirled it until his eyes met the second term.

Let go.

A corner smile appeared on his face, "it's easier said than done. I'm not a good person, Thulile. I hurt a lot of people and disappointed many more."

"Why?"

Lars frowned, "Why what?"

"Why do you tell me all these things about yourself. I'm not a therapist. The coffee you drink isn't therapy."

"I feel better when I drink it and talk to you."

"Why?"

"It's what I'm trying to figure out. So until then," Lars sighed, "can you work with me?"

One could translate the man's words to stay with me just as Lars did when he pronounced them. He didn't have time to reflect on how Thulile understood his words as the woman answered.

"I can't heal you. I make coffee; I don't mend anything. I feel things when I make coffee for people. It's not magic, but I can't explain it, neither do I have an idea of what the words represent to the drinker. The way they perceive or interpret the terms is theirs. The drinker masters what follows."

"I know."

"Please, don't make me accountable for your happiness, Lars."

"I won't. Will you work with me?"

"I'll think about it," the woman said and got up.

"Where are you going?"

"I'm at work, remember."

Thulile went back to the counter. Lars replayed the scene in his mind. Did he really hold her accountable for his happiness?

One thing was sure Thulie made his day when she said his name. Also, it touched the man to see she stepped out to check on him.

He got up and walked to the truck.

"Ladies, I was wondering why don't you put some chairs and tables out here?

The tone was joyful and, surprisingly, didn't sound fake. Lars held his smile and attitude up with a weak invisible thread in his keeping up appearance box.

"Mista, we're only here because the local police tolerate us."

"So you can't?"

Palsea shook her head.

"I see," Lars wished to stick around, but he didn't see himself standing beside the trick all day or squatting in his car just the same.

The man also wished to avoid going home. King of bad decisions, the Libra didn't know what to do with himself, and so he just stood and had conversations with some of the woman's regular customers.

Finally, the time came for Thulile's pause.

"Wow, I was beginning to wonder if you didn't eat."

"I eat."

"Cool, then eat with me."

"Pardon."

"We can discuss some of your terms. I need to start working on a business plan."

Thulile blinked, "aren't you going a little too fast?"

"Life is too short," the man replied.

Thulile sighed, "Palesa needs me."

"No, I don't," the older woman said, giving Thulie an uncanny smile.

Palesa had chosen her team. If Nandi was team Julian, the older woman placed her bet on Lars.

Despite his appearance, Palsea distilled a form of innocence, no naivety. The man didn't even realize he liked Thulile, and it made the older woman smile. Matters of the heart were as complicated as humans made them.

Palsea found herself wondering, like a spectator watching a series, how Lars and Thuile's story would unravel.

"So what do you say? It's only lunch, Thuile. You're not signing up for life insurance."

"Okay."

"Great," Lars smiled all teeth out.

Thulile lowered her gaze. Why did he smile like that?

Idiot, Thulile thought.