A Portrait in the Cache

By Moh Afdhaal

She will walk through the door, order a triple espresso macchiato and then sit opposite me on her favourite sage velvet chair by the louvred Sapele window.

I will ask her about her day so far.

She will say it was long, and that she was glad to see me before she left. Strands of her hair will flutter into her mouth as she speaks, vivified by the pastel afternoon breeze.

I will paint my memory with the portrait of her reaction, as soft fingers will pull away the hazel threads that stick to her roseate lips; photograph her angelic face as she will scrunch her eyebrows in slight annoyance.

We will talk for eighteen minutes and thirty-seven seconds about the things she will be packing for her trip. Then she will look at her chronorloge, and tell me she should get back to work. She will ask me if I want her to bring back a souvenir from 2004, and I will tell her that when she returns from the past, I would like to introduce her to my parents.

She will flash me a smile that will curl my toes, then lean over the table to press her lips against mine. She will then walk out the door forever.

I will close my eyes and press reset.

And she will walk through the door, order a triple espresso macchiato; then sit opposite me on her favourite sage velvet chair by the louvred Sapele window.


Moh Afdhaal is a writer from Sri Lanka. When he is not spending time on construction sites at his day job as a Civil Engineer, he reads and writes fiction. His flash fiction has been published on 101 Words, 365 Tomorrows and Friday Flash Fiction.


Art by Lesley C. Weston (Pen, Ink, Pastel)

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