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Candid Coffee Tales

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Candid Coffee Tales

Woman sitting on an autumn forest floor with a coffee mug, book, and scarf beside her — a moment of self-chosen womanhood beyond procreation.

Not Womanly Enough, Whatever That Means

"How do you define womanhood?" "It's mostly getting labelled hormonal and learning not to flinch. And, reserving the right to change that definition any day." They said procreation is blissful. That giving birth is closest to magic I would ever feel. Growing up, I

Magic hat, wand, crystal ball, white scarf, and two coffee mugs set before a faded building — a story of love, memory, and disappearing places.

The Curious Case of Vanishing Venues

"Do you ever get bothered by the absurd things happening in the world?" "Only until I remember the absurd things I’ve said in arguments. Then I figure, the world’s doing just fine." For reasons still unknown to science or magic, my husband and I

A couple lying on the floor of an art studio, talking beside a painted canvas and coffee cups, reflecting on intimacy in relationships.

Desire in Theory and Practice

"Why is love so complex?" "Because the human mind is. And because we often feel it one way, but live it another." They say love is personal. Subjective. To each their own. But is all of it? Isn't there a suspiciously universal subtext that

A coffee mug on a napkin with coffee rings, surrounded by funny slipping glasses and books, capturing a cozy, awkward life moment.

My Nose Is Just a Metaphor

"When we first met, I thought you were a bit nosey." "If only! I can’t even pry into my own blurry world." I used to wear these glasses that kept sliding down my nose, turning the world fuzzy. And every time I'd remind

Books scattered across a table beside a vintage coffee cup and a candle stand — an introspective space where thoughts, doubts, and creative longing unfold.

One Beautiful Sentence Ruined My Week (Then My Month, Then My Year)

"It's fascinating! This big beautiful world, isn't it?" "I think it's actually you." Reading evokes many emotions. Amazement, curiosity, joy, thrill. For me, there was one more — a sense of inadequacy. And it was a particularly strange kind, because it

Hands holding a small phoenix statue over a table with scattered books and a coffee mug — a moment reflecting how someone’s words brought comfort, clarity, and strength.

An Unsung Hero Saved Me, Silently

"You know how they say not all heroes wear capes." "Well, I say, not all heroes even try to be one." I have this habit. A random thought hits me, and the next thing I know, I’m spiraling down a Google rabbit hole, chasing articles

Coffee and books by a window, overlooking a crumbling building — a moment of reflection on forgotten stories in abandoned places.

Falling Apart, But Ever So Gracefully

"Sometimes I think architectural ruins harbor lost souls." "I think those souls are not of people, but of the houses themselves. Still clinging to whatever remains of their home." There is something about dilapidated buildings that always fascinates me. Whether standing forgotten in a ghost town

A cozy reading room with a large bookshelf, sofa, and a table set with coffee, a book, a tab, and some pages — a space where stories, thoughts, and life gently intertwine.

Late to the Feast, and Forever Famished

"But what exactly does it make you feel?" "Many things. Like life can feel infinite, even inside a finite frame. You know what I mean?" I embraced reading a little late. When I was very young, my mom and brother made several noble attempts to convert

A masquerade mask, coffee mug, and pen with paper on a table — a quiet metaphor for identity, perception, and the untold stories behind every face.

Character and Other Fictional Errors

"I thought he had no character." "How could he have one when you assassinated it for him?" Ages ago, I wrote a microfiction titled Casanova. It was the story of a man who deliberately taints his reputation as a womanizer, apparently for a good cause. When

A vine of autumn leaves and a coffee mug resting on a table — a symbol of a season that teaches us to let go and start anew.

A Thousand Autumns and Not One Was Mine

"There’s something about those fiery hues, don’t you think?" "I do. As if the leaves have been rehearsing this transcendence for lifetimes. As if they’re thrilled to die a little, just to be reborn whole." I have a plastic vine of fall leaves

Italian café table with coffee and books — a quiet moment of finding joy (La Gioia) in life's little embarrassments.

Fluent in Faux Pas and Artful Overthinking

"Weren't you embarrassed?" "I was, but then I laughed harder." In an epic misadventure, I once walked into an Italian café and quite confidently mispronounced its name La Gioia. I said it in a way that only a typically Indian tongue could manage (I’