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𝐄𝐏𝐈𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄


...

Year 2096


"One black coffee and a croissant."

As the first yawns of dawn unfurled over Massachusetts, the usually bustling city started stirring. No profound rush of technology yet; just a serene peace and ease, punctuated by the intermittent chirping of birds. That particular morning, the sun was especially persuasive. It bathed the city in a vivid gold, embracing its inhabitants in a gentle, warm glow.

A calm breeze whispered through the weeping willows, their slender branches swaying in response, awakening from their overnight lull. A seamless blend of meadows and trees, a tranquil lake in the centre, structures for kids to play, hiking trails- Ridgefield Park was indeed the heart of the Massachusetts community.

In the year 2096, humanity had finally managed to undo the damage it had inflicted upon the planet. The scars of pollution, deforestation, climate change and the twin paradox that had plagued the Earth for decades were slowly healing. Nature was reclaiming what was rightfully hers, and the world was transforming into a vibrant oasis once again.
Nobody knew what had happened there, but the world suddenly had revived overnight.

Happiness at the "Kim Café" was a daily dose of respite for the people in Masachussets. Not that their coffee tasted bland or was famous as hell, but the warmth basking even strangers at the infamous barista palace held a candy for the eye of every new and old passer-by.
Plus, the antique look gave a sense of peace to anybody and everybody.

Yet, midst this vibrant ballet of daily life, one element remained unhinged- a man.
He kept lingering just at the fringes of the park by the cafe. Standoffish, with a wary shimmer in his deep-set eyes, he was an odd presence. He rarely spoke and was always by himself, observing and watching behind his thick black glasses.

In his mid-fifties, the man sported a grizzled beard with wrinkles etched deep into his dark skin, reminiscent of a well-travelled road map. He was wrapped in a well-worn pea coat despite the mild weather. As he flicked through the pages of the book fervently, his eyes scanned each line in a frantic hurry, his gaze holding both anticipation and a tinge of dread.

The regulars often threw sidelong glances or shrugged their shoulders in disconcert, but the man seemed out of touch with the world around him, engrossed in the book's fathomless depths.

Embracing the challenge of unravelling a profound mystery, the barista let his curiosity guide him. With determination, he positioned himself confidently on the coffee machine, not too far from the elusive figure. Astonishingly, even the dog, equally captivated, remained eerily quiet while casting occasional wary glances at the stranger.

The barista's intrigue grew stronger, fuelling an irresistible urge to approach the enigma. Yet, he wisely restrained himself, realizing there were still fragments missing from this intricate puzzle. Suddenly, a gust of wind carried the enchanting scent of an aged book, infused with delicate notes of lavender and parchment.

Inevitably, curiosity transformed into an insurmountable yearning within him. A courageous young lad, bolder than the rest of the onlookers, finally stepped forward to cipher this enigma. The anticipation was overwhelming; the unfolding conversation held everyone's breath in suspense.

"I see you've been at that book for hours. Is it that good?" The lad asked, trying to peek into the book.

The man simply smiled before responding, "Son, good and bad are subjective terms. Every story is a mystery. The trick isn't merely in solving it, it's in savouring it."

The barista could just nod.

Looking up, the old man offered a tentative smile, revealing years of wisdom or perhaps hardship. The barista, emboldened by his gentle demeanour, asked, "What is it you're reading that has you so interested?"

"A mystery," he replied with a low, rich chuckle, "one that has consumed me for the better part of my life. And, you know, they say mysteries are like sunrises. If you wait patiently, they begin to reveal themselves bit by bit."

With a response that etched itself deep within the mind, he effortlessly intensified the atmosphere that graced the quaint café.

In the subsequent days, the gentleman and his enigmatic literature gradually ascended to the status of local folklore, becoming a legend in their own right.

Whispers echoed throughout the close-knit community, punctuated by relentless theorizing and captivating rumours of hidden treasures. The mere notion that this enigmatic man could be a distant descendant of a renowned explorer captivated some, while others were convinced he was an esteemed archaeologist on the brink of unearthing his most extraordinary discovery.

These conjectures, immersed in intrigue and mystery, profoundly captivated the denizens' day-to-day lives in the neighbourhood.

The man, undeterred by this feverish speculation, continued his ritualistic sojourn at the café. With each sunrise, he would lose himself within the enigmatic confines of his book while the world around him bustled in its tiresome familiarity.

Time, relentless in its impartiality, effortlessly whisked away the icy grip of winter, playfully splashing the world with the vibrant and inviting colours of spring. The rhythm of seasons was the only thing audacious enough to jostle mankind's ever-present existence. However, one fateful day arrived when the café corner found itself stripped of its regular inhabitant. Vanished was the man, vanished was his enigmatic book, leaving behind an unoccupied chair and an empty void echoing with perplexing inquiries.

The café was silent that morning, the regular chatter incongruous with the resounding quietness of an empty chair. An overwhelming emptiness blossomed in the café; its intensity only surpassed by the curiosity ignited in his wake.

An intense void expanded, absorbing all the usual noises of the bustling café and making them insignificant and eerily quiet. The rhythm of conversations felt out of sync, disrupted by the unsettling silence emanating from the vacant chair.

Amid the curious glances and the buzzing whispers of speculation, the barista stumbled upon the well-worn book. Its usual place on the corner table stood empty, while the forgotten book lay hidden under the chair. A surge of excitement washed over him; the revelation of the man's identity and the enigma surrounding the book seemed within reach at last.

With delicate touch, as if handling the delicate feelings of surprise and confusion, he cautiously grasped the book. It possessed a weightiness, containing far more words than its physical form should allow, yet it held undeniable significance- a constant companion to the mysterious man, an emblem of great importance.

In the cafe's golden light, the barista flipped the book open, the musk of ancient pages and a story once told warmly welcoming him. But the pages weren't inscribed with words; instead, they displayed intricate drawings, whimsical sketches, notes, and colour splashes. He kept growing old with the pages, flipping over each edge, one name, one word, one explanation.

And he finally did find one.

"Curiosity, oh what a delightful little troublemaker! This insatiable craving for knowledge and exploration sneaks up on us, whisking us away from the mundane and into uncharted territories.
Like a cat with nine lives, curiosity has a knack for finding itself in the most peculiar situations, leading us down winding paths and opening doors we never knew existed.
I was just like you, naïve and curious.
Little boy! I will tell you the story, but find me first, at 78 Earl Street, Massachusetts."

And a burning red sign at the end, 'Seojin Kim.'

The mystery of the man bloomed again, this time richer and deeper, for he had not been lost in someone else's tales but in his own. The café resumed its rhythm, the patrons their chatter, but the chair remained vacant, bearing the imprint of the man and his book.

The day ended where it began, but the story- the brilliant, timeless story- morphed a barista, a simple coffee brewer, into an ardent, eager learner who had found himself in a world so intimate within the confines of text on tattered paper.

"Where are you up to, Cien?

And the barista quickly picked his bits, the jacket over his sickly frame.
"Visiting a friend, be back soon!"

The door closed with a tingle as he left for the story- the story he always wanted to know.


__________


That's all my folks!

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