French Vanilla with Black Coffee

By Lataurus Black

I sit in the middle of nowhere, gazing out the window of a small café on Seattle’s outskirts. My hand rests against the frosted glass, the chill seeping into my fingertips, creating a canvas for emotions I can no longer contain. Fall embraces the world outside, as the leaves are pirouetting to the ground, and the warmth of summer makes its slow retreat. I watch as cream swirls into the darkness of my coffee, forming delicate patterns that stir memories from a time when innocence was all I knew.

You stood before me then, dressed in black, your hair pulled back into a ponytail with curls spilling over your eyes. For a moment, your face was a mystery—a world hidden behind the sun, blinding those who dared to look past the stars and into the moon’s light. As a child, my heart made a silent promise in that instant. You let me glimpse your stars, pass your moon, and touch your spirit. You held your heart in your hands, and the scent of fresh cream softened the edges of mine, revealing love to me for the first time.

The aroma of caramel rises from my cup like the bloom of a rose, inviting me to savor its essence. I lift it to my nose, breathing in your unspoken message—a message of belief, of seeing something in me that I struggle to see myself. Each morning, the reflection in the mirror hides behind its mask, never revealing the person I am. But you saw through it all: the weight I carry, the pain, the strength, and the fear.

We sit together now in the cozy corner of this café, the rain tapping gently against the window, its cadence lifting the heavy hands of stress that cling to me. Each drop seems to extinguish the smoldering fields of anxiety within, clearing my mind like a cleansing breath.

You tap your cup lightly, pulling me back from what felt like mere minutes of reflection, though an hour has quietly slipped away. I had been lost, gazing into another world—a place where my love has always lived, hidden from the wandering eyes of the big city.

Leaning back in my chair, I cradle the mug of black coffee in my hands, watching the steam rise and curl into ethereal shapes. The gentle hint of caramel intertwines with my thoughts. Your smile is the backdrop to this moment, framed by the autumn rain slowly turning into snow.

Lataurus: “Do you ever wonder why black coffee is always the base? Why is everything added to it, yet it never truly changes?”

You smile, stirring your French caramel latte in slow, deliberate circles. Your eyes meet mine—soft yet piercing, like the sweetness that lingers after a sip.

Lolo: “Maybe it’s because black coffee is strong enough to stand on its own,” you reply thoughtfully, “but it still leaves room for sweetness to blend in, to add something new without losing itself.”

You pause, your gaze holding mine as your voice softens.

Lolo: “Maybe that’s why I fell in love with you. I remember the day we met—something about you felt different. It wasn’t just the conversations or the way you smiled. It was how you let me peek inside, even when you didn’t realize it.”

A gentle laugh escapes your lips as you cover your mouth, eyes drifting to a memory that warms your heart.

Lolo: “You were so shy when we first met. Do you remember? You ran away like you thought I could see right through you. It was so endearing.”

You lean forward, your voice barely above a whisper.

Lolo: “Even then, I saw the purity in your heart. Even if you couldn’t see it yourself back then.”

I smirk softly, taking a slow sip. The warmth of the coffee spreads through me, but your words stir something deeper, awakening feelings I’ve long kept buried. My heart swells with gratitude as memories of our childhood surface—when the world seemed darker, and you were the first to see me truly.

You found me then, a young boy lost in the bustling streets of Miami after your family moved from Paris. You looked at me without judgment, without fear. In your eyes, I felt seen for the first time.

Lataurus: “And what about the cream?” I ask, my eyes searching yours. “Do you think it changes when it touches the darkness?”

You tilt your head thoughtfully, a curl falling across your face. You tuck it behind your ear—a familiar gesture that tightens my chest.

Lolo: “No,” you say gently. “It doesn’t change. It’s still cream, still sweet. But it brings out something different in the coffee. Makes it softer, warmer, maybe even more comforting.”

The rain outside continues its soft murmur, filling the space between us. I study you, letting your words settle in my heart. I feel a shift within me, like a gentle stir in the still waters of my soul.

I whisper to myself, almost inaudibly, “Love is patient; love is kind.” It’s what I feel when I look into your eyes—the quiet truth of a love that has always been there, waiting.

Lataurus (thoughts):

Every time we talk, and I look into your eyes, it’s like you’re stirring my coffee—mixing things inside me that I didn’t even know were there. I’ve lived my life thinking I needed to stay strong, to keep everything black and straightforward. But with you… everything softens.

I lean forward slightly, vulnerability threading through my voice.

Lataurus: “I never learned how to love. All my life, I’ve questioned whether two souls can truly coexist. Whether love can hold us together or if it just tears us apart.”

Turning my gaze to the window, the rain is easing my mind. I exhale slowly, the tension unraveling with each breath. The gray clouds outside feel like a portal open only for this fleeting moment—waiting for love to enter.

Lataurus: “I find it ironic,” I muse. “People don’t believe in God but believe in love—a love built with no foundation, destined to crumble. My parents didn’t make it. But here I am, sitting with you, looking into the place where I’ve anchored my heart. Trusting that the walls we’ve built will stand tall through any storm.”

You watch me over the rim of your cup, sensing the hesitation of the guarded walls I’ve constructed. You’ve seen them before but also know what’s hidden behind them.

Lolo: “Sometimes we mistake fragility for weakness,” you say softly. “But I think it’s in those fragile places where real beauty lives. That’s where the truth of who we are hides.”

You pause, your fingers tracing the rim of your cup.

Lolo: “Maybe that’s why, when we first met, I couldn’t see into your spirit right away. But when I placed my ear to the locked door, I felt what you were hiding in the shadows. The power of your heart pulled me closer—closing the gap, no matter the miles between us.”

I watch you, captivated by how your words peel back layers I thought were impenetrable. A quiet sigh escapes me, a faint smile tugging at my lips.

Lataurus: “You make it sound so easy,” I say, my voice tinged with wonder. “Like letting go is just a matter of choice.”

You sit silently for a moment, then rise gracefully, your latte forgotten. Moving to the counter, you refill our cups, the fresh steam rising like a new beginning. Your gaze drifts to the window, to the silhouette of the mountains melding softly with the clouds.

Returning, you place the cups on the table and lean in, your eyes meeting mine with unwavering resolve.

Lolo: “Letting go isn’t easy. Love isn’t easy either, especially when the world paints pictures of destruction and calls it real.”

Your voice softens, yet strength underpins every word.

Lolo: “But this moment, right here, is real. I knew from when you kissed me to when you told me you loved me. Your lips were more than just lips, and your words were more than just words.”

You pause, your gaze never wavering.

Lolo: “You gave me something I didn’t even know I needed. A reminder that love isn’t about perfection or easy answers. It’s about moments like this, where everything feels raw and uncertain, but somehow, it’s enough.”

You reach across the table, your hand covering mine.

Lolo: “Close your eyes, Lataurus. Tell me, what world do you see without me?”

I hesitate but comply, letting my eyelids fall shut. The café fades, and a portal opens within—a doorway into my mind. I see myself in a chaotic world: overcrowded roads, decaying buildings, screens flickering with hollow faces. Amidst the noise and decay, you’re nowhere to be found.

Lataurus (thoughts):

All this time, when I looked within, you were never here. How did I get lost in a place without you?

As I step forward, I feel a pull from deep inside, as if the broken pieces of my heart are rearranging. Then I see you—not outside, but within me—smiling as if you’ve always been there, waiting to be found.

When I open my eyes, the café comes back into focus. The rain has softened to a drizzle, and the warm light feels brighter.

You’re watching me, your gaze calm yet curious.

Lolo: “What did you see?” you ask softly.

A tear escapes my cheek as I lift my hand to the frosted glass, tracing the outline of a heart. Turning back to you, I whisper,

Lataurus: “A world without love and possibility. Like the cream and coffee in my cup, you always show me what is contained in my cup. I don’t want to see a world if you are not a part of me.”

Your smile radiates warmth as you squeeze my hand gently. Our silence is quiet but alive with unspoken truths.

The café fades around us—the quiet chatter, the clinking of cups, the hum of the espresso machine. All I can feel is her hand in mine, the rain outside, and the walls I’ve built trembling under the weight of her presence.

Lataurus: “You scare me,” I admit, my voice barely above a whisper, the words tumbling out before I can stop them.

Her eyes search mine, her gaze soft but unyielding. For a moment, I see a flicker of vulnerability there—something raw, something honest.

Lolo: “You scare me too,” she says, her voice steady yet tinged with emotion. “But maybe that’s the point.”

I hold her gaze, feeling the tension in my chest unravel with every second. The rain continues to fall, steady and unrelenting as if the world outside knows we need this time. Her hand tightens around mine, and her warmth seeps into me like cream greeting coffee, melting the edges of my carefully constructed defenses.

Lataurus: “What if we can’t do this?” I ask, my voice quieter now, almost drowned out by the rhythm of the rain. “What if we blend too much and lose ourselves?”

Lolo: She tilts her head, her fingers brushing over the back of my hand. “What if we blend just enough to become something better? Something we could never be alone?”

I blink, her words sinking into the depths of my guarded heart.

Lataurus: “It’s hard for me to let go,” I admit. “I’ve been holding on so tightly to this… to myself.”

Lolo: “I know,” she whispers. “But you don’t have to hold on alone anymore.”

Her words are like the rain—soft, steady, and relentless, washing away the doubts that cling to me. I glance toward the window, where the cold wind plays with the falling rain, giving even the storm a sense of purpose.

Lataurus: “What if we fail?” I ask, my voice barely audible.

Lolo: She leans closer, her presence grounding me. “And what if we don’t? What if this—us—is what we’ve been searching for all along?”

For the first time in years, I wonder what it might feel like to blend—truly blend—with someone else. I want to let down the walls and let someone see every part of me. There are no masks, no pretense. Just black coffee and French vanilla swirled together, creating something neither of us could ever be alone.

I squeeze her hand gently, a faint smile tugging at the corners of my lips.

Lataurus: “You think we can do this?”

Lolo: Her smile deepens, her eyes never leaving mine. “I don’t think. I know. And even if it’s not perfect, it’ll be ours.”

I exhale slowly, the tension melting away like the last remnants of ice in a warm drink. Even the wind outside feels softer, the rain carrying a sense of peace. We sit there, words fading into silence, just us now—two hearts blending, learning to beat as one.

For the first time, I knew I was the coffee, and she was my cream.