Love That Starts With Hate
Early Meet With Him

I remember the first time I saw him, meeting him so many times, that he proposed to me all of a sudden and showed me two years later. I never got mad at him. At all. Because it's not his fault either. It's just about destiny that brings us together and separates us to live lives that were never imagined before just like when we didn't know each other.

Simply put, I was just a college girl, nineteen years old, and worked part-time waiting tables at a coffee shop called Castew. I left my hometown in Surabaya by migrating to Jakarta. Just like girls in general who have empty dreams about the true love of a perfect figure like the one in the movies, I too like that.

While he, Harrish, an office man in a neat suit who always came to drink coffee with the same woman for almost an hour in the same corner. He never came by from one o'clock in the afternoon. I think that beautiful woman is her friend and lover, because they always come together with driving Camry sedan. From the digit number that could be read on the Camry license plate I knew that she was not an arbitrary person; so was the short-haired woman who had a charming smile that looked friendly.

They were a compatible couple, because that man was the most handsome man I had ever met. Understandably, in the village there is no man who looks so handsome with a tall body and dressed like him. In college, I only met students in jeans and t-shirts plus sneaky sneakers.

Some of my co-workers also often noticed him; as if they had never met a handsome young executive. But, no matter how perfect he was from a distance, it was all meaningless as I approached.

I delivered the ordered coffee with a thumping feeling; because that was the first time I served a regular subscription that reportedly had a high taste. The only thing that made him come to Castew was his distinctive coffee taste and all this time he had never been disappointed with the coffee mix here. But, one more thing that everyone did not expect about that day was why he regurgitated the coffee he had shaved from his cup just ten seconds from the moment I left his desk.

I only realized that when I suddenly heard his voice yelling ‘Hey, you!’ with a loud voice until all the heads inside looked at me.

My heart kicked my chest as if it wanted to get out of its sockets by the time I came back with a feeling of worry. Yes, she stood up from her chair, looking at me with a red and angry face. “Ya, Sir?” I answered the rude call very carefully as if it could change things.

But, I know, it seems that this guy will soon be gushing at me with his curse.

“I'm asking for Espresso! Why is the coffee sweet?!” he cursed me and people's attention clung to us.

“Udah dong, Ris ... Don't be angry, pity,” said the girl friend who came with her.

The basic rule of a servant is that it is forbidden to argue with the customer.

“Then I change my coffee?” I said, trying not to panic. Then I intended to take the misaligned coffee from the table to report it to the barista to be replaced. But, he brushed the cup roughly off his desk.

“Lo delay, Ris. It's not her fault. But, who made his coffee,” said his female friend who helped reconcile. But this guy is already emotional.

“Sorry, Mr. Harrish. There may be a miscommunication between the barista and his waitress,” my manager said.

“Where might espresso taste sweet?!” Harrish still looks annoyed. He already knew that it wasn't my fault but his gaze still seemed to blame me.

“Sabin, there you order a new one!” wito, the manager. He was also upset with me.

What's with the people today? Are they really like that because of the burden of personal life or am I the only one who fared ill?

I could still hear his voice cursing as I returned to the barista; the person still regretted the coffee shop service to the regular subscription. Maybe he doesn't understand behind customers feeling the most right there are waiters who feel always wrong.

Joe, the coffee brewer just laughed when I told him what was going on up ahead. “Lo didn't say it was Espresso,” obviously he was relaxed. Both hands skillfully make a new Espresso.

I just grunt. “I didn't say but the order was written here,” I said showing the note I made when the person ordered. I want to convince everyone here that it wasn't my fault. But, it seems that the only person to blame here is me.

“That order may be exchanged with other customers. Maybe you take it wrong, Sabin,” Joe is still tight when clearly when giving the note to him no other customer also ordered coffee. Where could it be swapped while I remember him calling me a few minutes later after his coffee so?.

“Already. Indeed customers sometimes like weird,” he said. Joe probably realized his mistake would be even more apparent if we continued to argue. Then he gave a cup of Espresso according to the finished order. “It's been fast between there, I don't want to follow the problem because of lo.”

My days now belong to individualists. Seeing them treat me as they please, sometimes makes me want to stop working. But, giving up because of that person's treatment only made me worse off. I came to Jakarta with a million dreams and hopes. The amount was too much to be destroyed by such people. Why should I give up just because of a bitter cup of Espresso?