The Cafe of Iost time

                                                     2. Déjà Vu?

 All heads turned. Everyone rushed toward the next table, craning their necks to see what was happening. Confusion rippled through the crowd. And then, my eyes caught sight of something or rather, someone right beside the table where I was sitting.

A girl with blonde hair, probably of Irish descent. I’d never seen her before in my life. Yet somehow, all the noise faded into a strange kind of silence as the crowd’s eyes shifted from her… back to me.She began to sing.The piano joined her, its melody flowing in perfect sync.I stood frozen, clueless, a mic still in my hand. My eyebrows arched in curiosity, my eyes locked with hers. One of us didn’t blink, and the other didn’t look away.

When the song ended, the applause erupted. But I couldn’t move. I was still standing on the edge of surprise, barely processing what had just happened. Before the clapping faded, I rushed off the stage, my pulse quickening with every step toward her table. She was just about to sling her bag over her shoulder when I caught up.

“And you!?” I blurted out, more in wonder than words. I wanted to ask, How did you know those damn lines? Before I could say anything more, she extended her hand toward me.

“Guess you missed this for a while,” she said, handing me a folded piece of paper.It was my diary page. “I found it near my table,” she continued. “When you sang, it was pretty clear this belonged to you.”

“Oh, yeah, it’s mine,” I said, awkwardly scratching my neck. “I was just wondering how someone could sing it… I mean, you know it’s kind of personal.”

The dots connected. My heart trembled, though I tried to play it cool with a nod.

“That was lovely,” she chuckled. “I wish someone had sung that song for me.”

“I’m Sara,” she added, “an Irish writer. You seem like an artist yourself, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, you got me right,” I smiled. “I’m Mike, aspiring to be the Jordan of music.”

She laughed softly. “Nice one, Mike. So, you must’ve written that song for your muse?”

“Sort of,” I admitted, “but not anymore.”

“Well, it was really nice meeting you,” she said, glancing at her watch. “I’ve got to catch up with someone important.”

A part of me wanted to keep her talking, but another part hesitated, unsure if I should open up to a stranger. My thoughts tangled between saying goodbye or taking the chance to stay connected. Was I just desperate for a spark? I wondered.

She began packing her things. And my tongue yet to spell out a single word

“Okay, see you around, Mike,” she said with a wave before heading toward the door.

I smiled back and nodded. She carried a certain light in her eyes,the kind you only see in true artists. And before I knew it, the inner voice inside me decided to take over.

“Hey!” I shouted. Oops. The entire room turned to look at me again.

“Alright, gentlemen, relax! I’m not singing another song,” I said, pretending to sound cool but clearly failing at it. Without waiting for their reaction, I dashed toward the door.

“Sara!” I called out. “Can we meet later this weekend?”

She turned and smiled. “That’s kind of you, Mike. But I’ll be flying to Dublin in a couple of days. My schedule’s a bit packed… but I’ll keep you in mind.”

“Alright then,” I said, forcing a smile. “Good luck with your meeting, Sara.”

I stood there, still clutching the diary page.

Just then, a janitor approached me. “Mr. Mike, the manager’s waiting for you in the lounge. He wants to have a few words.”

I sighed. “What now? What surprise does that fella have for me this time?”