large_Red Green Gift Time Facebook Ad (2).webp

medium_Red Green Gift Time Facebook Ad (2).webp

small_Red Green Gift Time Facebook Ad (2).webp

thumbnail_Red Green Gift Time Facebook Ad (2).webp

Red Green Gift Time Facebook Ad (2).webp

Novelo Rectangle

The coffee was burnt.Emily stirred it anyway. No sugar. No milk. No intention of drinking it. She just needed something to do with her hands, something to keep her grounded in this fucking café, in this fucking body, in this goddamn moment she was still stuck in.A man sat down across from her.Not at the following table. Not near the counter. Right there. At her table."I'm your soulmate."The spoon stopped. Emily blinked at the swirling black coffee, watching it settle. Then she turned slowly enough to get a proper look at him. Thin. Hollowed-out in the way only grief or addiction could carve into a man. Dark circles. A scar on his chin. A cheap jacket that smelled like stale air and cigarette butts. He looked like shit."My soulmate died a long time ago."The café buzzed around them—espresso machines hissing, cups clinking, distant laughter spilling from people who still had lives worth living.Emily wasn't one of them. And this bastard—whoever the hell he was—thought she'd entertain whatever horseshit he was selling. He wouldn't last long. He'd stammer, laugh awkwardly, and shuffle away.He didn't."Yeah," he muttered, tearing open a sugar packet, pouring it in, and stirring slowly. "I know."Her fingers tightened around the spoon. "Oh, you know?" she said, voice flat. "How's that?"He took a sip of his coffee and grimaced. "You've got that look.""What look?""Like you'd put a bullet in your head if you could just be bothered to get up."The whole café blurred.Somewhere, a chair scraped. A spoon clinked against porcelain. A barista laughed. But here, at this table, everything stopped. Emily didn't breathe. Didn't move. Didn't blink.Then, low and tight: "Fuck you."He flicked his head. "Yeah." Another sugar packet. Open. Poured in. Stirred. "Fair."Her fingers twitched around the coffee cup. She had a knife in her bag. Not big. Just a box cutter tucked between her keys. She wasn't sure why she was thinking about it now. Maybe because this goddamn stranger was wrecking her morning."What do you want?" she snapped. "To bond? Swap sob stories? Play hero?""Nope." He nodded toward her saucer. "I just wanted your sugar packet."She blinked. "What?""The sugar packet." He gestured lazily. "You're not using it. Figured I'd take it."Emily clenched her teeth so hard her jaw popped. This motherfucker.She shoved the sugar packet across the table."Take it. Then fuck off."He did. Tore it open. Poured it in. Stirred. But he didn't leave."How long?"Her stomach dropped. She should get up and go, leave him sitting there with his crappy coffee and his cheap fucking jacket. But she didn't. She sat there, jaw tight and blood roaring in her ears.And the stranger—this nobody—just shrugged. "Yeah. That's what I thought."A second. A heartbeat. "Nine years." It slipped out before she could stop it.His jaw tensed. "How?""What do you care?""I don't." He sipped his coffee. "I just know the feeling."Emily exhaled, slow and shaky. She looked around the café. Bright lights. Happy couples. Bullshit conversations. The world kept moving, like it always did, like it always would. Meanwhile, she was stuck there.Trapped in this body.Trapped at that moment.Trapped.And then —Crunch.The coffee cup in her hands had split—a jagged, hairline fracture right down the side. The hot liquid seeped into her palm, scalding. She gasped, pulling back, the pain sharp. The cup shattered.For a moment, everything went still. Then she pushed herself up, her hand reaching for the bag.Out. She needed to go out.But before she could move—before she could run—the man grabbed her wrist. Not hard. Not rough. Just enough."Nine years?" he asked, voice low. "And you're still here."The café noise returned, distant and hollow. A shadow moved. A sigh. The shattered cup disappeared, the spill wiped clean—erased as if it had never happened. A fresh cup replaced it—whole.Emily sat back down.She stared at the coffee. Her hands trembled. "You don't know me." Her voice was a whisper. "You don't know shit."He didn't argue. Didn't say a single damned word. He just let go of her wrist slowly and carefully. And then he slid his extra sugar packet across the table.Her hands flexed, shaking. She stared at the packet, that tiny, wasted pile of something supposed to make things sweeter. But it just sat there, useless, like everything else.Like her.The man said nothing. Just waited. There was no comfort, no warm, gentle words. No bullshit about how it gets better. No false promises, no patronizing "You're strong" or "You'll make it through this."Just a fucking sugar packet.Emily's breath came in unevenly as if her lungs didn't know if they wanted to keep working. Like they were flipping a coin on whether to just stop. The rage inside her was still ticking, but it didn't break her open. Just sat there, a weight in her ribs. A blade she'd been swallowing for so long that she'd forgotten what it was like to breathe without bleeding.She should leave. Tell him to go to hell, choke on his coffee, that staying alive isn't as simple as stealing someone else's sugar packet. But her hands were still shaking.And she reached out.Slowly.Carefully.Like touching something that might burn.She took the sugar packet.Tore it open.Poured it in.Stirred.The spoon scraped, slow and steady. The sound cut through the café noise, the dull hum of conversation, and the weight pressing down on her chest.Then he repeated it. "I'm your soulmate."The words sat in the air for a second. She didn't look at him; she didn't need to. Her pulse didn't even spike, not even a twitch.This was the truth.She felt it, a subtle sting in her chest. Not the ache of romance but the ache of understanding. Because somewhere deep down, Emily recognized it. She recognized him. Not his face—she didn't give a damn about that—but his emptiness.Her hands shook as she lifted the cup and took a sip. Now, the coffee didn't taste like ashes. Didn't taste good, either. It was still shit coffee. But it was there.And so was she.Still breathing. Still moving. Still here.Not because she wanted to be or she'd found some bullshit new reason to live.But because, despite everything—despite the weight, the exhaustion, the screaming black hole inside her—she was still too goddamn stubborn to die.And that was enough.

Try Premium

Try Premium

The Sugar Packet

Eleanor

Share

The Sugar Packet

Synopsis

Chapters

Word Count

Read Time

Publish Date

Story Updates

This story has no updates.

Reviews

This story has not been rated yet. Login to review this story.

Advertisement

Challenge

About Author

Angela Eleonora

Advertisement

Browse