The History Paper
"I'm sorry Chase," you sighed, rubbing your temples. "I can't make it tonight." You sounded surprisingly desperate.
"You always say that," he huffed.
"I know, I know," you said. "I just have to get through the week and then I'm free anytime." You sat forward, running a hand over your face. "I have a history paper due on Monday and two midterm exams next week."
"You're too focused on school," you could hear the eye roll in his tone, "and when you're not busy with college, you're too introverted to do anything."
"I'm trying," you said, defeated. "I promise, after this week, we'll hang out. We can get lunch or something."
"Alright," he caved. "As long as you know it won't be as much fun without you."
You laughed, "okay."
. . . . . .
After hanging up, you put on some music and cracked open your history textbook and a few others from the library. Unfortunately, it wasn't long before you started growing bored and hungry. You finished your paragraph, then stood and stretched. The paper felt like it was taking too long and it didn't help that you were getting distracted every twenty minutes.
You padded down the dark hallway and into your kitchen. Opening the fridge, you realized you hadn't been grocery shopping in an embarrassingly long time. Letting out a frustrated groan, you walked back to your room to put on a pair of socks and grab your jacket. Slipping on your shoes, you grabbed your keys and backpack.
The light in the hallway of your apartment building flickered while you locked your door. The building was old, but for the most part, pretty nice. Dark wood panelling lined the bottom half of the blue walls. There were old-school sconces holding, what you assumed to be, gas lights that cast a comforting warm glow evenly spaced down the hallway. You hurried out of the building and down the stairs, quickly making your way to the street. The night was colder than you expected, but the fresh air was nice.
You headed in the direction of a small late-night cafe you frequented. The walk was relatively far, but you needed the break, and their waffles were worth the trek. You had asked the owner and chef, who you had grown to be friends with, what her secret was, but she always just laughed and waved off your question. Sometimes, you would bring your laptop to Linda's, she insisted you call her that, and work on school papers for hours. Linda always made sure you had a full mug of coffee, with no extra charge. Her cafe was peaceful, kind of like home. She reminded you of your own mother; she was incredibly patient and warm but also unafraid to call you out when you didn't say 'please' or 'thank you' to her waitresses or when you were being stupid. You sort of had a hunch she only liked you because you not only tipped well but were there almost daily. Either way, you were content with her little coffee shop being a go-to safe haven in the city. All of the streetlamps lining the sidewalk were on and the sun was almost completely set. You took in the sound of crunching leaves beneath your feet and the white noise of the traffic. Glad you brought a jacket, you pulled it tighter around yourself. When you approached the cafe, it was closed.
You swore under your breath and made an impulse decision you knew you'd regret. "Hey, Chase," you said when he answered the phone, "I changed my mind. Where do I meet you?" He gave you the address, and you called a cab.
"You always say that," he huffed.
"I know, I know," you said. "I just have to get through the week and then I'm free anytime." You sat forward, running a hand over your face. "I have a history paper due on Monday and two midterm exams next week."
"You're too focused on school," you could hear the eye roll in his tone, "and when you're not busy with college, you're too introverted to do anything."
"I'm trying," you said, defeated. "I promise, after this week, we'll hang out. We can get lunch or something."
"Alright," he caved. "As long as you know it won't be as much fun without you."
You laughed, "okay."
. . . . . .
After hanging up, you put on some music and cracked open your history textbook and a few others from the library. Unfortunately, it wasn't long before you started growing bored and hungry. You finished your paragraph, then stood and stretched. The paper felt like it was taking too long and it didn't help that you were getting distracted every twenty minutes.
You padded down the dark hallway and into your kitchen. Opening the fridge, you realized you hadn't been grocery shopping in an embarrassingly long time. Letting out a frustrated groan, you walked back to your room to put on a pair of socks and grab your jacket. Slipping on your shoes, you grabbed your keys and backpack.
The light in the hallway of your apartment building flickered while you locked your door. The building was old, but for the most part, pretty nice. Dark wood panelling lined the bottom half of the blue walls. There were old-school sconces holding, what you assumed to be, gas lights that cast a comforting warm glow evenly spaced down the hallway. You hurried out of the building and down the stairs, quickly making your way to the street. The night was colder than you expected, but the fresh air was nice.
You headed in the direction of a small late-night cafe you frequented. The walk was relatively far, but you needed the break, and their waffles were worth the trek. You had asked the owner and chef, who you had grown to be friends with, what her secret was, but she always just laughed and waved off your question. Sometimes, you would bring your laptop to Linda's, she insisted you call her that, and work on school papers for hours. Linda always made sure you had a full mug of coffee, with no extra charge. Her cafe was peaceful, kind of like home. She reminded you of your own mother; she was incredibly patient and warm but also unafraid to call you out when you didn't say 'please' or 'thank you' to her waitresses or when you were being stupid. You sort of had a hunch she only liked you because you not only tipped well but were there almost daily. Either way, you were content with her little coffee shop being a go-to safe haven in the city. All of the streetlamps lining the sidewalk were on and the sun was almost completely set. You took in the sound of crunching leaves beneath your feet and the white noise of the traffic. Glad you brought a jacket, you pulled it tighter around yourself. When you approached the cafe, it was closed.
You swore under your breath and made an impulse decision you knew you'd regret. "Hey, Chase," you said when he answered the phone, "I changed my mind. Where do I meet you?" He gave you the address, and you called a cab.