Glasses per Day
She stroked the glass with elegance, as she tasted the drink, licking the remaining moistness that stayed on her lips. She was a woman with sense of responsibility and intelligence; every fiber—he knew— enveloped by a dignified aura, however, maturity was seem to be the missing piece of the perfect puzzle that was she. He knew that this woman was in her legal age, legal enough to get drunk for all I care. The woman possessed a pretty face— discard all those vibrant inks in her face and surely reveal a face of a young girl. He had awfully been staring at her lips that are so delicate, but in his sight, unfortunately, would display the glass she was gripping, no it was the fluid. A glass— wine glass to be precise, filled with that plain, colorless, tasteless drink you called water. Yes, water. He had been a bartender for years, yet it was his first time to encounter a customer who had been ordering water incessantly. To make matters worse, she had been trying to get drunk with water and he wasn't sure if it was effective (he hasn't tried it anyway). He remembered how the rude, pretty girl, few days ago, declined his offer for a cocktail drink. He thought it was absurd, how could water be enough to get you all smashed up when we all had been drinking it in our whole existence; and that ensured our immunity from being drunk. Failure came to his senses, is this her 16th or 17th order?
"Another round of water, mister," she requested. If only her weapon, her smile, ceased to exist, he could have kicked her out of his bar. A pleading smile on her pleasing appearance was the trap that have held him captive for so long; no matter how much he tried, escaping was a tiring and worthless chore. He admired her smiles, it was irresistible. The smiles she had launched on him, making the corner of his lips curved upward in return; let those flirty smiles thrown at him by others be trashed. This woman must have casted a charm on him, a dangerous yet enchanting one.
Her voice. Her voice was something he would want to listen. If he were bold enough, a recorded voice from her would be a good reason to make waking up daily more exciting, unlike his usual grumpy mornings. It would be his alarm, message, and ringtone. Well, if he had been bold enough.
But then again, if only he could kick her out when he was very capable of doing so, he could not just bring himself to do it because he would miss his recent favorite customer. His favorite customer usually arrived at seven forty-five in the evening during Tuesdays, Thursdays, Fridays, and Saturdays, and would take her leave at nine in the evening. The customer started in his bar three weeks ago. At first, she was worn out and her eyes were red. Dark circles were visible under her eyes but nowadays, the bartender barely saw it. Anyway, the bartender had thought that whoever made her like this deserved a punch on the face. He hoped that it was not a child or a woman because he did not want that kind of violence, if he had to choose the violence he preferred.
He remembered the third day the woman went to his bar. She was sobbing and mumbling phrases like "I hate you" in her sloppy voice and those phrases sounded nearly incomprehensible. Breakup was his assumption. He shook his head and unbeknownst to him, the lady was gazing at him in a confused way. However, if the bartender were completely aware, he would take it as a gaze of checking someone out. Realizing that it was not his position to stick his nose to a stranger's business made him shook his head. However, the bartender considered himself as an honest man. He would not deny that he was curious of the maiden's heartache. He would not mind lending his ear if she wanted someone to talk with. Well, that would be a lie, because he was not this type of person but he could make an exception.
Contentment was in the eyes of the customer. She stood up and handed bills to the bartender. The water isn't free since she drank up way too much. That made him glanced at the wall clock; the time was nine forty-three. With no hesitation, he accepted the bills and returned her some coins. She accepted it with her hands and she went away at his counter.
It was the fifteenth day of her presence in his domain. Yet, the bartender still did not know her name. His guts to ask her was gone since the first day of her in his bar.
At exactly nine forty-five, she disappeared in his sight, and surely she escaped in his urge to know her name tonight.
Author's Notes: For the errors, be it grammar, punctuations, or spellings, I truly beg your pardon. This might be kind of rushed but yeah, I wish that you've enjoyed at the very least. Thank you for reading this very short story that have wandered in my mind for so long and made me wrote it on here. Feedbacks and follows are appreciated. Rest assured that this is a multi-chapter story.