Chapter 1- Cafe Westline

I took a sip of the hot chocolate which had now become cold, and unconsciously scratched my eyebrow with my index finger. ''Why do you even drink this?'', asked Angela, with a look of disgust on her face. ' I know I work here and everything but even I know that its really bad. And cold now.' I smiled and said, ''I don't know, I somehow cannot concentrate on journaling without the bitter taste of this in my mouth .It helps me... to pour out on everything.'' She rolled her eyes and said, 'Whatever. I am leaving in 15 minutes. Do you want me to make you a sandwich?''

Now that, was a good question. I knew that today might be the last chance for me to have my favorite garden sandwich. I might not even be here tomorrow...

'Yeah, that would be great. You don't have to do this, you know...''

'Oh please, Bella! I am here for ten minutes. I'll be back in a second...'' and drifted off to the kitchen.

Sure enough, my sandwich was here in a few seconds, or so it seemed to me. Because I was busy staring out of the window at the busy scene outside- the vintage market, the street-singer with his guitar, the shop with fresh, luscious vegetables... I would definitely miss all of this so much. I looked away before nostalgia took me back to the place which i had been trying to avoid so much. 'There you go.' I took her fist, put the money in it, and closed it. ''There you go too! Enjoy the rest of your day.'' I couldn't help be half-hearted, even with a cheerful person like Angela.

''Oh,Be-'' I interrupted her groan by putting a finger up, '' Ang, I can't afford to deny the basic rules of behavior. It's criminal.'' She broke into a smile and rolled her eyes. ''You definitely won't give the ''etiquette'' drama a rest. Fine! I'll take your damn money. And while you're at it, why not two more dollars for making me stay for fifteen minutes more?'' I laughed and said, '' Now, now, you're the one who said it wont be a problem. It's not like I pointed a gun at your face and threatened you to make me a sandwich or face your death! But still, if you ask for it...'' I handed her the money nevertheless. She smirked and snatched the money from my hand.

''Anyway, I'm leaving. Do me a favor and tell Mike to close the shop after you leave. He might as well forget.''

''Sure thing. Bye, Ang.''

''Bye.''

She hung her apron behind the kitchen door, gave me a final smile and left.

It was a bright, sunny afternoon sky was a brilliant light blue,and the clouds looked as if they were made up of cotton. The sun was shining so brightly that I had to squint to make out the colors and shapes. It seemed like all the shoppers of the market outside had also adapted their moods to the weather- everyone was laughing and smiling as if they knew nothing more.

I sighed as I realized that no one was sitting around and looking at everyone else and moping. Whatever, I thought, no one is going through what I am right now.

Maybe if I could make my mind concentrate on something more cheerful, engaging, I could combat the grief I felt at leaving the place I loved so much. Only then did I remember the actual reason as to why i was here.

I opened my bag and took out a thick, heavy diary. My old diary. I opened it to the first page and saw a name label in my own scrawny handwriting-

Isabella Swan

St.Grinoid's Art Institute

Year-2001

My hands shook as I snapped it shut. This is all so wrong! All this... This was not supposed to be remembered. It was simply criminal to remind oneself about the most painful, and therefore forbidden period of one's life. But hard as it was to admit, my life would have taken a totally different turn if i hadn't done what I was something I never forgot, even if I didn't want to remember it.

Instead,I looked around at the place nowhere I was sitting. I seemed to be at a lose of words as I realized that this might be the last time I'd ever see this place. This table, this chair... they were like a part of my soul. A horcrux, if I intended to speak in Harry Potter language.

I had to do this. This was the last time. I won't ever come back to Fellington ever again, let alone Cafe Westline or The Red Umbrella market. I took a deep breath as I opened the diary to the second page.