When I was in my early teens, I attended lessons held in a private home. Every morning I would catch a bus and get off at a street corner about ten minutes away from where the lessons were held. From there, I would walk the rest of the way through streets that were only just beginning to wake up.
About halfway along that walk was a coffee shop — not a café filled with chatter and clinking cups, but a proper coffee trader. A place dealing with coffee itself: beans, grinders, and the preparation for the day ahead.
Each morning, as I passed by, they would already be at work. Fresh coffee beans would be ground and prepared, and the aroma drifting out into the street was something unforgettable. Even now, after all these years, I struggle to describe it properly. Some scents seem to live beyond words.
As a teenager, I remember thinking of those old cartoons where a delicious smell appeared as little wisps of smoke, reaching out and leading a character by the nose. Walking past that shop each morning, I understood exactly what those cartoons meant. It felt as though the aroma itself was calling me forward.
Years later, I searched for the shop again, hoping to find it. Sadly, it had long since closed its doors. But perhaps that hardly matters. The shop itself may be gone, yet the memory remains exactly where it always was — preserved somewhere untouched.
There is another little twist to that journey that only life could write. The corner where I used to get off the bus later turned out to be only a few doors away from the home of someone who would become one of my closest friends. At the time, it was just another street corner. Years later, it became part of a much bigger story.
Funny how memories work. Sometimes a scent drifting through the air on an ordinary morning can stay with you for a lifetime.
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