She sat in a cafe. The seats were a dark mahogany brown, uncomfortable for long hours but a brief respite for her legs that ached from too-intensive retail therapy. At least there was a cushioned padding on the back of the chair, so it made for easier leaning. Absentmindedly she fingered her pendant. It was a sparkling cap that looked like a peanut shell from the back. The cafe played old Ayumi Hamasaki songs and she was reminded of primary six days, when she formed a pseudo-band with her classmates. They called themselves Revolution and "gigs" consisted of drafting lyrics and album covers on loose pieces of notebook paper. She vaguely recalled likening love to coke. In a rare moment of self-found amusement, she bent her head and chuckled.

The stream of people milling by the cafe was a halfhearted river making its way down course. She'd have preferred a larger throng of people. At times like these she didn't mind her solitude because she felt at peace with herself. It'd been ten years since she'd stepped foot here and though it'd changed a lot the cafe still served ice raspberry teas and banana floats. She found personal triumph in tasting the same tastes without The Other Emotions. It was what she called those unwanted feelings that hit her in her gut everytime he appeared. So many years ago. The Other Emotions. She could think of him painlessly now, brilliant in his charisma, outshining his bandmates who fought harder than he did but could hardly hope to achieve what he achieved. She took a sip of her tea and winced as the straw scratched against the side of the hole in the plastic lid. She frowned a little at her jeans, which she'd purchased recently in an attempt to keep up with her country's youthful trends. The material was stretchy and the cut tapered to the ankle. Sometimes she doubted her sanity when it came to clothes and fashion. She thought bemusedly for a while normal jeans would probably have fitted her better, because now she felt like a pear with elephant thighs and that hardly boosted her self-esteem. But whatever. The lack of a pang in her heart when his face flashed across her mind was glory shining enough for one day.

She eyed the people walking past her over her tea and speculated on their ancestry. That girl with the mild ponytail, polo shirt and modest skirt - a student, she thought, and a studious one at that. Probably a modest family with a modest income and honest relatives. Heavy doses of black eyeliner, purple lipstick, combat boots - traumatic background, abusive parents? But kids nowadays tended to look like what they exactly weren't.