Matcha!

A Bright Morning and a Cup of Green Tea

He was over the moon. The sunshine was radiant. The gardenias in full bloom. Their scents ever so sweet.

“Matcha!” read the sign at the shop. What could be more splendid, he thought.

With footsteps as light as a summer breeze, he entered. The cashier met him with a smile.

“What kind of matcha do you have?”

She showed him the menu with all sorts of flavors.

He ordered plain with soy milk and browsed around the quaint store.

“Pemba,” called the barista.

“That looks so delicious,” he declared. “Thank you so much.”

The barista flashed him a frown.

“That sounds sarcastic,” she remarked.

Not knowing if she was serious or not, he said joyfully, “Yes, it was.”

She stared at him sternly.

“No, I mean it was genuine,” he replied, grabbing his $9 medium-sized matcha from the counter.

He walked out, watching his step on the cracked stairs.

A cloud covered the sun.

She glared, shaking her head, through the window panes.

The matcha tasted a bit more bitter than advertised.

A story by Pemba Umoja