#The Perfect Coffee Order

My first reset of the day happens when I fluff up my coffee order. Too flustered to decide on a drink, I accidentally string them together and ask for a "hazelbread latte". I stammer to correct myself but it's too late. The regret has already taken root. I just have time to feel the flush of heat to my face as I cringe before a familiar hiss of static fills my ears, and the past couple of minutes whirr by until I'm back waiting in line.

This time, I rehearse my order in my head. Gingerbread latte. Gingerbread latte.

When I reach the front, I practically shout it at the poor girl behind the counter. My face flushes. I cringe. Static hisses in my ears, and the minutes whirr back again.

On my next go, I get past the order. But when it comes to paying, I send a handful of change scattering. Face flushes. Cringe. Static hisses. Minutes whirr back.

The next few loops pass similarly, but with frustration and impatience building inside me, time starts slipping away, the seconds speeding by. I can hardly figure out the source of my regret before it's taken me back to the start. Flush, cringe, hiss, whirr. Flush, cringe, hiss, whirr.

With a deep breath, inhaling the rich nutty aroma of freshly ground coffee, I force the frustration away. What sense is there in being impatient when time isn't actually passing?

Gradually, the seconds start slowing, giving me long enough to think. I'd learnt from past experience that there was always more than one solution. Whichever path I take, it will be one of many outcomes. I've been fixating on the coffee order, but maybe it's time to tunnel out an alternate exit. After all, I don't really need a coffee. Do I?

I make it all the way to my desk before I reach for a cup that isn't there. The hiss of static fills my ears as the minutes whirr past, leaving me back in line.

Certain that my only way out is through, my resolve strengthens. Learning from my past errors, I manage to politely order my drink and pay by card before stepping to the side to allow the next person forward. I press my back to the wall so that when a man walks past with mugs balanced precariously on his wobbling tray, there's at least an inch clearance between his feet and mine. Of course, he doesn't notice, his eyes fixed on his drinks.

After exactly two minutes and twenty-five seconds, I step forward just as the barista calls out, "Gingerbread latte!"

"Thanks," I say with a smile and a nod, taking the cup from their hand ever so gently to set down on the counter and press on the loose lid. Though the skin on my hand was never technically scolded by spilt coffee, the memory of it still smarts.

With my drink secure I head for the door. I did it. The perfect coffee run. Nothing to cringe over later. No injuries to nurse. I have the exact drink I want to fuel me through my day.

Sometimes, I curse my strange affliction, making me feel like an anachronism in my own life, but then moments like these make me wonder: how does everyone else cope without it? How can they be satisfied with such an imperfect existence?

Chest puffed up, I reach for the door—

—as it swings into me, sending my cup flying, coating me in hot liquid. Resigning myself to one final attempt, I wait for the hiss of static to drown out the stranger's apologies. But before it can, a gentle touch on my arm draws my attention, and I meet her gaze. I lose myself in deep brown eyes and a stare as endless as time itself.

"Are you alright?" The words reach my ears eventually, but it's as if they travel through treacle to get there.

"Oh... yes. I'm fine." My own voice sounds strange too, each syllable extended. "I'm sorry—"

"Nonsense. It's me who should be sorry." Those brown eyes flash as lashes flutter in a blink, the corner of her mouth twitching up. "Though if it wasn't for my clumsiness, we might never have met."

My lip twitches up in a mirror of hers. Despite the coffee seeping into my clothes, I can't help but agree. There isn't an ounce of regret in me. In fact, I wish I had time to drink in every last detail of this moment.

As I stare into her eyes, I can feel my heart pounding inside, as if it's racing. But it seems as if the time between beats is growing and growing. Everything is moving slower and slower.

Until it stops.

And there is time enough at last.

WC: 800

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