Café Romano was located in the outskirts of town, it was a surprisingly tranquil place where people of all ages hang out to tell the world they're readers. Half the people who said that they enjoy reading were quintessential pretenders and fucking phonies. There's no joy in reading, there's only suffering and disappointment, that at least if you're reading the good stuff because the bad ones were nothing but sugar-coated lies.

I ordered an espresso and some glazed donuts at the counter while waiting for Narcissa Castro. She's a journalist so I figure she had a lot of stuff in her hands to waste her time waiting. Personally, I did not like people waiting on me so I made it thirty minutes early. The barista handed me a tray of smoking hot espresso, two pieces of glazed donuts and politely motioned for me to find a seat to enjoy my order. She had a warm smile and a dreamy voice good enough to land her a job at an evening radio station. We exchanged awkward smiles before I moved out of the counter and settled in a far corner near the magazine stand. I picked up a copy of a lifestyle magazine although I had no intention of reading it. I took a sip of my coffee and the scalding heat nearly made me spit it out onto the table. I looked around and was glad nobody had noticed.

Café Romano had perfected their craft in the coffee and pastry department; the bitterness of the black coffee was balanced out by the sweetness of the glazed donut. It wasn't a bad first impression, and I wouldn't be surprised if I come back here more often. I scanned through the pages of the magazine, searching for something that would pique my interest. The articles mainly circled around the latest fashion trends of the year, interviews with fashion industry icons I knew nothing about, and a substantial number of vanity advertisements. I did not notice Narcissa Castro standing in front of me, "You must be Florante Ariza. Hi, I'm Narcissa Castro of MGM news, nice to meet you," she extended her hand and flashed a smile, revealing rows of teeth adorned with white braces.

"How did you know I'm Florante Ariza?" I asked her out of curiosity since we hadn't met before. "Oh, I simply deduced," she said confidently. "Spot on, I'm Florante Ariza, nice meeting you." Sensing my reluctance for pleasantries and small talk, she went straight to the point. "So, Florante shall we begin?"

Narcissa Castro exuded a remarkable blend of intelligence and warmth, which was rare because in my experience, adults could either be intelligent but arrogant, or warm but stupid. I didn't even feel like I was being interviewed. She had a way of making it seem like nothing more than a friendly chat, like I was in a safe place to tell Simon's narrative in my point of view. She recorded our conversation and jutted down notes. It took us three hours because she wasn't the straightforward type of interviewer. She made a deliberate effort to engage in a three-way conversation between Simon, me, and herself by asking the right questions. I didn't know how she managed it, but I felt relieved that I had entrusted Simon's story to her. I knew it's in good hands. "Will my name appear on your work?" I asked. "You mean the article?" "Yes, the article," I felt stupid. "No, not necessarily...this is not news it's an opinion, so we can leave out your name on the narrative," she expounded. "What's the difference?" "Oh, with news you take the topic for what it is, with opinion you get more leeway with words and all..." I was not sure if I really understood but I just said, "wonderful, thanks." "Does it bother you to have your name on it?" She asked. "I don't like the exposure that's all." "You're a smart guy, Florante, brave and courageous, you've done great, I'll take the rest from here." "Simon, he did not deserve what happened to him..." I almost cried when I said it. I've kept it inside me for a long time. And things you keep hidden grow on you. "It takes a lot of courage to do the right thing, but we do it anyways even if we're afraid, you're a brave young man Florante." She offered to drive me back home but I refused. I wanted to walk. The sun was safely tucked behind thick clouds, and the cold breeze of the 'ber months accompanied me as I walked home, perhaps the night would gift me a peaceful and dreamless sleep.