Each time I thought about Asha, I felt like my heart would tighten up. Three days had passed.
I was too scared to be given a cold shoulder for the second time, so I couldn’t go to the Coffee Shop. But I thought maybe she would call, so I hung around the house not to miss it. How pathetic was I?
I’m sure there was a reason that made her hate me. I’m just going to forget about her. Shut her out of my mind. But with each day, the sadness grew stronger.
I truly liked Asha. Arriving in New York alone, she was the first woman I really liked. Feeling so alone in the city, I never thought I would find love, but Asha became someone truly special in my life.
I was wrong to think that we became close just because we chatted a bit, walked in the park, and held our hands a bit. I hated myself for making this to be a big deal. These thoughts went round and round in my head, and I began to think, “Forget it.”
Seven days had passed since that tragic morning.
I finally gotten over the turmoil and decided to head down to the Coffee Shop for the last time. I casually glanced around and found Asha, looking as busy as always.
My turn came and I ordered a medium size cappuccino. Noticing me, Asha looked slightly taken aback, stared into my eyes and said,
“Yes, certainly,” and made me a cup.
I placed the money on the counter, took the cup and said, “Thank you, bye,” and started to walk out of the store. That’s when Asha stopped me and said, “Wait…” in a quiet tone.
“It’s fine, I’m ok, don’t worry,” I said.
“No, that’s not it… can you read this?” and she handed me a letter and once again, stared deeply into my eyes.
Tears were welling up in her eyes.
“See you,” she said and turned her back to me.
The envelope had small writing in pink crayon.
“Love, Asha xxx”

“I love pink. When I was small, pink crayon was my treasure, so I would use it sparingly. Even today, I only use pink crayon for important things.”
Asha told me this as we cycled through Central Park.
With a cappuccino in hand and Asha’s letter in the other, I found myself standing in the middle of Washington Square Park, dumbfounded. Why did she have tears in her eyes? What did she write?
I was too scared to open the envelope. I didn’t need to hear from her anymore. I just wanted to be left alone.
The more I stared at the letter, the more it felt like something was about to happen.
I loosened the top button on my polo shirt.
The piercing heat of the summer began to creep all around.