January 12th, the cold winter breeze flows through the air and... that's about it really. I couldn't think of what to write. As a struggling writer living in New York City, I used to use the weather as inspiration to start off my stories, but lately, I just wasn't feeling it at all. The crisp snowflakes in the air could easily start off a chilling story of murder, or love broken. My mind has been blank for so long, for so many reasons. My first story got published in a local magazine two years ago. It was about a girl who found love for the first time. That story landed me my job as a writer for Entertainment Weekly Magazine. One article, twice a month.
I sat in the coffee shop on 42nd street, as I did every Thursday evening. It was a cute little place that wasn't too well known, but had charm and character that drew me to it in the first place. I found myself procrastinating, just surfing the web and listening to music. As much as I wanted to finish my article on the new children's library that had just opened... well, I didn't. I wanted to write meaningful stories. Not just reviews of how 'pretty' the outside of a building is, and how old the painting hanging inside of it was. Sometimes I get to write stories on the latest events around town, other times I'm given boring topics. This was clearly one of them.
"Listening to Michael Jackson... Can't go wrong with any of his songs"
I looked up and a man, probably in his early 20s, was smiling at me. I gave him a polite smile back. Was he really coming over to talk to me?
"Sorry, didn't realise my music was up so loud". I said this as I put the volume down on my laptop.
"Don't be, the man was musically a genius, am I right?"
"Yeah, I love some of his older stuff." There was a slight awkward silence.
"I was just wondering if you had some sugar?" he asked.
I gave him one of the packets that was on my table. He had one tattoo on each arm that I immediately noticed, one was of a anchor, and another of a woman.
"Do you like them?" he asked.
"They're very cool" "I gave the tattooist a photo of this beautiful gypsy woman, don't know how it ended up looking like this beast!" His humour was charming. Actually, everything about him was.
"Oh come on", I said, "It's not that bad at all. I like it"
He smiled again. "Well, thanks. I'm... Peter." His voice almost had a bit of uncertainty to it. I was too busy getting drawn in by his charm to notice at the time.
"Well Peter, I'm Aria. Nice to meet you". I moved a piece of hair out of my face and watched him walk back to his table.
I could see all the girls in the shop gawking at him, and to be honest I couldn't blame them. He had big brown eyes that I couldn't stop looking at. He wore a fedora, a red plaid shirt and faded jeans. I also couldn't get over how amazing his smile was. Or his voice, the way he spoke to me...
I had to snap out of it! He was just an incredibly cute guy, who just thought of me as the girl at the coffee shop who had the sugar on her table. He peered up at me, and I quickly turned my head back to my laptop. I had just noticed that my empty word document was still staring at me right in the face. The flashing cursor was waiting for me to write something. I don't know if it was the suddenly warmth in the room or a change of heart that finally got me writing.