Inkling 2025 - Flipbook - Page 8
of her life trying to gather them, fragile and
trembling, stitching them together waiting til
the day she would see him again.
“There’s eventually going to come a time,” he
had said, taking a slow sip of his co昀昀ee. “But
no matter how far apart we are, remember—
love isn’t bound by time or distance. I’ll
always be a part of you. In the little things,
the big things, and everything in between.”
As the memory faded, she returned to the
present, letting out a soft laugh, a bitter
sense of irony sweeping over her. How
strange it felt now, this very moment, in
this very café, as she sat alone with her
co昀昀ee. Her 昀椀ngers traced the edge of the
mug, feeling the cool ceramic, and for a brief
moment, she wondered how many cups she
had shared with him in this very spot—how
many late-night conversations, how many
silences that had said more than words ever
could. How many cups had warmed her
hands and her heart, only to leave her colder
once he was gone.
She glanced toward the door each time
it opened, even though she knew better.
Still, her heart 昀氀uttered with the impossible
hope that, just maybe, tonight, he might
walk through it again. But reality remained
unmoved. She looked back down at her
co昀昀ee, watching the last wisps of steam rise.
Tears 昀椀lled her eyes and fell silently into
the cup. She brushed them away quickly,
embarrassed, trying to bring herself to
drink—but hesitated. Then, in her peripheral
vision, she noticed an older woman, perhaps
in her late seventies, sitting a few tables
away, holding her co昀昀ee with quiet grace.
The girl quickly recognized her. The woman
and her husband had once been regulars
here too, just like she and her father. But
8 | INKLING 2025
now, the seat across from the woman was
empty. A wave of understanding swept
over her. The older woman looked in her
direction and o昀昀ered a small, knowing
smile.
“Don’t let it get cold,” she said gently,
her voice carrying more than just words.
“Sometimes warmth is how they come back
to us.” Then she stood, and quietly walked
away.
With a softened gaze, the girl watched as
the older woman stepped out into the rain.
The deeper meaning of her words slowly
began to resonate within her. She knew
the woman was right; she had just been
too afraid to accept it. But now, she was
starting to understand that some things, no
matter how deeply you ache for them, can’t
be brought back. Not even with a thousand
cups of co昀昀ee. No matter how many nights
she returned to this café, no matter how
tightly she wrapped her hands around a
warm mug, the past would not rise from
the steam. Yet within her memories, and
in the simplest things, she understood that
he lived on—in the smallest details, just
as he had promised. She was beginning to
embrace that, and in that quiet realization,
it was starting to feel like enough. She
looked down at her cup and smiled—not
because he was gone, but because, in the
stillness, he was still there. Not in body, but
in everything that mattered. She lifted the
cup to her lips, and in that quiet sip, peace
昀椀nally found her.
Braelyn is the 1st place
winner in the Short Story
category for this year’s
Teen Writing Contest.
