'The Cafe Of Lost Time'

                                                     Chapter 1 .'A Whisper Or A Call'?

The evening started to dim, the snow now started to drizzle like the rain, not so thick but far enough to cover the pavement, and almost everything, there's always this thing, a particular in Prague , it transcends you straight to the Victorian era, kind of gothic yet romantic , with buildings made of patterened wood with crafted cornices, it would be inhuman to call it as merely buildings, as I could appreciate nothing, but the love for the art in the people who crafted this. And there I'm walking across the streets in the decorated cobblestones searching for the ideas for my next music, my debut wasn't a great hit but surely it did provoke me to keep pushing against the odds.

I just stopped for the moment , to let myself indulge in the beauty of the city for a moment. 

The tall ,slender streetlights flickering through the fog ,Kids playing with the snowball hitting the distant targets, A couple exchanging their rings and gifts, a young lad playing violen , which hummed myself caught in a fantasy, a nostalgia I never had. 

 I just think the great art is finding solace with those and in places where you can be yourself a bit, ain’t it?

The time ticked , I was looking for a corner to linger, then stumbled to find a cafe on a cobbled street , with it's majestic appearance built with dark oak with its warm golden light amidst the cold , the sight view, can render a taming heart to calm. The amber lantern welcomed this wandering soul so as I entered. 

If there's a smell that could hit someone's longing feel it is that I experienced for a brief time, a scent mixed with roasted coffee and of a flower, that i couldn't name exactly. As I go with every table, there placed a unique quote on a greeting card, one written as "Stop Pause And Resume" , while it sounded relatable to me, my eyebrows even more raised on seeing the quote " You're a nostalgia to me , a whisper of the past, felt but never held in the present" that felt like I've said this to someone, I was looking a little erratic, why does this place feel familiar, I've not ever been to this place, but certainly I feel a part of me gripped here. I claimed the spot and looked through the menu card. Wait something struck my mind, I stammered, I had read this quote to her, it was mine and slowly my memory began to recall all the shades of memories, with the tinkling of cups, soft murmur chatter across the tables, and the piano's notes from the corner, all made like a movie projected on the café wall. I searched in my backpack to get the diary, not the usual one, but rather my first where I'd written a song note, which was inspired by her, touched down together, along the slopes of the vineyard, in the Grébovka Park , waxed with the smell of sweetness. 

The Organizers planned for a karaoke, the host stood up to the stage and asked 'Who's going to charm us this lovely evening with a song?"

I looked down at the note, not sure what went through me, the inner urge made me stand tall among the crowd to head towards the music band.

 'Alright gentleman , you don't seem to hesitate for a moment huh? Let's get this man , a warm welcome!" 

This is the first time, I'm ever going to sing this song to a crowd , which was then only between me and her. I paused for a moment while holding the mic, the crowd went into silence, all their attention was towards me, straight into my eyes, like they were digging to find something in me.

I opened up, not with a taming dragon, but to just weigh down something, which have been on my shoulders for so long, the band synced to my tune, with the violin and cello note playing high, I lost myself in the moment, started to have panic attack, couldn't help myself but pause for a moment, Suddenly, the mic let out a ,creaking hiss , sound that made the Heads turned. From somewhere within the crowd, a hand had claimed it. I was caught between curiosity and wonder, my eyes drifting over faces and tables, searching for the one.

                                            

                                                     CHAPTER 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?”

Could you excuse us for a second?” I asked the janitor politely. Sarah and I had been given a chance to be left undisturbed for a while. As he walked a few steps away, I turned to her, trying to steady the unease fluttering in my chest.

“Hey, uhm… do you mind coming here tomorrow evening?” I began, my words stumbling out awkwardly. “I’m planning to prepare something for the karaoke. It won’t take much time, I mean , you could just enjoy the evening, one last time in Prague.”

Truth was, I hadn’t prepared a single thing. No song, no lyrics. It was just my reckless instinct trying to turn the table in my favor. If she said yes and never showed up, I knew it would haunt me for a long time. But maybe… just maybe, let the dice roll out and watch out for the luck.

She shifted her stance slightly, her eyes drifting to the floor, I couldn’t tell if it was nervousness or hesitation searching for an excuse. Then, she looked up with a faint smile and said, “Yesss!”

“Uh… you mean you’ll really come tomorrow evening?” I asked, pretending to sound casual, though my heart was already sprinting ahead.

“Yes,” she said with a soft laugh. “I mean it. Yeah, if we could sing together, for one last time.”

Oh my goodness, I was jumping with my feelings, while I didn't care about my unwritten song, damn it's already night, with few hours left I've to write, am I insane? 

“It’d be great if you could send me the lyrics beforehand,” she added. “You can text me.”

We exchanged numbers , a small gesture, yet it felt strangely significant, as if the universe had paused for it. But the challenge now was far greater. I wasn’t sure how to write a song overnight… or why I was trying so hard to impress someone who’d soon be gone in a couple of days.

“You’ve got someone to meet in the lounge, Mike?” she asked, tilting her head slightly.

“Yeah,” I said, trying to sound indifferent. “I’ll get in touch with him. And may you find your way with the meeting.”

“It’s with Sandrocks Productions,” she replied, smiling faintly. “They’re offering me an opportunity as a writer.”

She reminded me of the horrible experience with my past , it was that I've ever been hit rock bottom, I was fired , the closest ones left, the most silenced period where I couldn't get nothing but solely my shadow as company not in the light, but in the dark. There's one thing that is beautifull about being broken, you get to see the true colors of your own and I had to remind myself everytime from the batman quote "Why do we fall sir?".Sure would everyone knows the answer. Ever since then, I pulled the rugs towards me , so conscious to choose what I want and more precisely, to chase down the passion. I decided to not confess anyword about those things , so I just waved her bye and luck and waited for her walk away

“Mr. Mike, how long have you been in Prague?” came a soft, familiar voice from behind me. The tone struck something deep, a voice I hadn’t heard in years.

I turned around and froze. What I saw left me utterly speechless.

  

                                               CHAPTER 3. THE DETOUR.

 

How would you describe the moment when the very person you’d been wishing to see, if only their shadow, their mirage and suddenly stands right before you? Not too long ago, I had almost forgotten him, or perhaps forced myself to. Some knots, though, never loosen with time.

And there he was.

Folks, the universe really has a strange sense of humour, stringing people together in the most unexpected ways. I’m flabbergasted, to say the least, by how quickly things turned on their head: from an uninvited encounter to facing the man who once shut the door on me.

'Abandonment'.

A word that pierces every wandering soul. Some numb its pain, others let it burn within them, using it as the spark to rise again.Alright, before I start sounding like an old Stoic philosopher, let me get to the point because I can’t wait to lash this guy out.

You see, this is the man who “reincarnated” me, not through kindness or grace, but by sabotaging everything I had. I hadn’t seen him since the day I was fired from the production house. He was my co-worker back then. Ever since, I’ve lived with this quiet urge to look him in the eye and stand proud,  just once.

And now, the moment’s here. My gaze shifts from the tenderness of a romantic farewell to the sharpness of a vengeful greeting.

“There you are, Lucas!” I said, gripping his hand with a firm, dominant shake. It wasn’t friendly, but it was exactly the kind he deserved.

“Someone’s pumped up to see me?” Lucas smirked, that same arrogant curve I used to despise.

“Yeah,” I replied coolly, “why wouldn’t I be?”

“Perhaps my growth got someone excited,” he said, voice thick with pride. “Would you care to have a drink with the new manager of Sandrecks?”

I can  See why he So happy, his ego never got the way from him.I Could only feel how many people he trapped to climb the position he holds.

He took a casual sip from his glass and added, “By the way, I’m looking forward to meeting someone named Sara. You seemed rather… familiar with her?” He raised an eyebrow, smirking again. “I was watching your karaoke performance. You looked pretty occupied with one of my clients.”

My gut twisted. I never imagined things would spiral this way. Deep down, a wave of insecurity washed over me. I knew this man, he wouldn’t hesitate to twist stories, especially when it benefited him. But no. I refused to crumble, not in front of him. It’s either I’m fine, or I’ll be fine, I told myself.

“Lucas,” I said, forcing a calm tone, “things went uphill for me. I’m an independent artist now. I guess I’m finally in a place that serves my best interests.”

“Sounds great, mate,” he muttered, already glancing at his phone. “Anyway, I’ll catch you later, buddy. I’m always rooting for you.” He patted my shoulder, a hollow gesture that stung more than it soothed.

He walked off, leaving me adrift in the noise of the café.

The clinking of cups filled the air. My eyes wandered to a middle aged man sitting alone near the window, his thick brows furrowed beneath his  glasses. He sipped his coffee, gazing out at the night sky with a quiet joy. Something about him humbled me. Maybe he, too, was reliving an old memory,something simple, something lost.

Outside, the city had grown darker. My time here was coming to an end.

Then it hit me.

“Oh, wait—the manager!”

I nearly forgot he’d called for me. I turned to the janitor nearby.

“Hey, um… could you take me to the lounge to meet the manager?” I asked, clearing my throat.

“Sir, I believe it’s his home time,” he replied politely.

The doors closed again. This time, I was the one caught between emotions.Hope and regret tangling in my chest.

“Do you know why he wanted to meet me?” I asked.

“I heard some talk about hiring a musician,” the janitor said quietly.

I froze. “What?”

“Yes, sir. They’re testing candidates tomorrow during the karaoke sessions.”

“What!” I nearly shouted. “The slots are already decided?”

“I’m afraid so. No openings for the next few days,” he said apologetically.

The room suddenly felt too big. Too empty.

I had just invited Sara for tomorrow evening and now, the future of that moment seemed to vanish before it could even begin. I stood there, not knowing whether to fight for it or let it go.

                                               4. (a) THE COLD NIGHT

The place that once greeted me with the gentleness of warm air now meets me with a cold that bites, a quiet suffocation I didn’t know I could feel. Tonight, it isn’t just about the weather, it's a knock at my heart’s door, a gentle reminder that something inside me is shifting. The air feels heavier, not because of winter, but because memory has a strange way of appearing uninvited.

As I walk along the pavement, snow piled on either side like forgotten thoughts, flashes come rushing back with faces, words, moments that shouldn’t matter anymore but still do. When everything around you looks like a mess, you don’t stop to point fingers; you simply search for a place to stand still, a corner of the world where nothing demands answers. And then you watch, helplessly, as things you thought would never fall apart begin to unravel like loose threads.

How many times have I hugged the cold nights in silence, pretending the shiver was from the wind and not from something breaking inside me? How often have I held back tears by feeding myself dreams....dreams that felt warm enough to breathe through but fragile enough to slip between my fingers? Each time pain returned, knocking me off balance, I found myself asking the same question:

Is this agony for something I lost but never truly deserved? Or is it for the empty spaces that have still not been filled?

But human nature is stubborn. It convinces itself that better things are on the way. Sometimes they come quiet, unexpected, kind. And sometimes they leave you stranded on the shore, waiting for a hope that takes its own sweet time to cross the tides. Maybe it will arrive. Maybe it won’t. I no longer pretend to know.

For now, I choose stillness.

I sit on a bench facing an unfamiliar bridge illuminated by scattered lights. The bridge looks beautiful, yet oddly unwelcoming, like a home whose door you are afraid to knock on. The wind whispers, the water moves below, and the world goes on without noticing me. And yet, in this solitude, I hear Whitman echo in my mind—“You contain multitudes.” A simple line that somehow comforts me. It reminds me that every person I meet, every moment I survive, leaves a quiet trace of me somewhere in the universe. A trace that grows, rearranges, becomes something new. Maybe that is why loneliness feels slightly less cruel tonight.

So I sit here, watching my own breath fog into the air, thinking about all the things I’ve been chasing—Dreams....Love....Happiness.....A purpose.

Chase… chase… chase…

It feels endless, doesn’t it? Like running on a road that keeps stretching itself only to test your patience.

And yet… even the endless has to pause.

Tonight, I yearn for magic, not the kind that transforms the world, but the kind that gives me a momentary stillness. A spell that lets me breathe without running, exist without reaching, feel without drowning. Just a pause.

The night deepens, the cold wraps itself around me gently now, almost like an old friend, and somewhere beyond the darkness a faint glow hints at dawn.

And I know, Even pauses have their purpose.Even waiting has its meaning.

And the dawn will rise.

       ......... TO BE CONTINUED 

                  (Sab)