The Inside Out Café

It had been three weeks since I arrived at Raenulie Magic Academy, and I still hadn’t made a single friend. Maybe it was because I was a hopeless book nerd who spent every spare second in my dorm practicing spells instead of actually talking to people. Or maybe it was because the cool, rich, and socially bulletproof students perched at the top of the academy’s food chain never spared me an eye. Or an ear, for that matter, since they usually yawned halfway through my class presentations.

So, naturally, I went where all mature, intelligent, and undeniably hot nerds go.

And no, it’s not the library — it’s the café.

I wrapped a nude scarf around my neck, tied my hair into a ponytail (yes, I’m male, and yes, it suits me), and threw on casual clothes with a bit more color than usual. On the walk there, my nerves buzzed beneath my skin. I prayed I wouldn’t end up sitting across someone’s date—or worse, an introvert who wanted absolutely nothing to do with the world—including me.

Introverts are actually quite common in the latter category. Some just can’t communicate well, while others would rather be left alone, even by a divine presence such as the Queen’s.

The air outside was warm but heavy, still clinging to last night’s rain. I tried admiring the damp leaves and the scent of petrichor to keep my brain from spiraling into pre-social anxiety… or turning around and hiding in my dorm with a spellbook.

When I reached the café, its glass panels reflected a perfectly ordinary place. Warm light pooled across polished wooden tables. Tiny potted plants perched on each windowsill. Five women and seven men were scattered around—three typing on laptops, two scrolling on phones, a handful sipping their coffees. Two couples leaned close over slices of cake. At the counter, someone ordered pastries while the bell above the door chimed softly. Still, I wasn't to be fooled. I knew things here never appeared as they really were.

But if there was anywhere in the academy I might actually make a friend, this was it.

I lingered outside, took a steadying breath, and walked in.

I didn’t react at first — I tend to observe before engaging. Hands in my pockets, eyes scanning the room, I was so sure I looked nonchalantly hot that I hoped someone had noticed me walking in.

For a moment, everything seemed normal.

Then my brain short-circuited.

Three goblins chatted casually in a booth. An ogre slurped something bubbling and neon green. A witch girl in a huge black hat with pretty eyes smiled at me — showing black, rotten teeth. I promise, that’s an understatement. The waiters responded in high-pitched, cackling laughter to the man in the cloak’s order. They literally spoke a laugh language. Some chairs were floating mid air and the coffee machine was talking.

The walls felt like they were leaning toward me, the whole room tilting just slightly, closing in. Everything was chaos, and my jaw nearly unhinged at the sight.

Before I could decide whether to faint or scream, someone yanked my sleeve with surprising strength. I recoiled my hand in fear of my sleeve being torn.

I looked down.

An extremely petite girl was tugging me toward a table with all the determination of someone guiding a lost child.

“Good morning, Sir,” she chirped. “Would you like some coffee?”

“Uh—yes? Just… not the green kind, if you have any.”

“Right away! Please follow me.”

Follow was generous. She basically hauled me across the room and into a chair. But I didn't want to sit down at all. I'd hoped I'd stand in line next to the man in the dark cloak and order my coffee to go. He looked enough like Dracula that my brain immediately filed him under definitely nocturnal and I couldn't imagine why someone like him would need caffeine. I couldn't imagine any of the creatures in here enjoying it. Then again, the waiters were human enough. Presumably they drank coffee like normal people.

Presumably.

She blinked up at me, her eyes comically large. I guessed this was her silent signal to order.

“One large black coffee,” I said. “To go.”

Her voice was so small and fruity I had to lean closer to hear amidst the chaos.

“Sorry, but we ran out of cups to go.”

“Oh. Well, I—”

“No worries! I’ll make it right away.”

She dashed off and immediately started arguing with the coffee machine, which refused to brew black coffee because it was “too emotionally draining before noon.”

That was my cue to flee.

I stood, turned, and slipped out the door—straight into a raging storm.

Rain crashed down in solid sheets, like the sky had snapped and was dumping entire buckets at once.

I was trapped. Inside was chaos; outside was the apocalypse. But in a flash I was decided for when a violent gust shoved water in my face, soaking my entire front through instantly.

A violent sneeze tore out of me, as I slid the glass door open to go back inside.

I was met with a sudden, intense and suffocating silence.

Everyone stared at me.

Every creature.

Every being.

Every pair of eyes.

I felt separated from the rest of all living creatures in front of me. As if I was trapped in my own vacuum.

Every drop of water sliding from my hair and chin sounded impossibly loud. My chest tightened, my breathing hitched, and my ears throbbed. I wanted to melt into the floor or run out into the storm where at least no one would watch me flail.

Time stretched. Every second felt endless. My limbs refused to obey. I couldn’t look away from the faces around me, yet I couldn’t meet their eyes. I was trapped in a private panic, locked inside my own head.

Then, a small nudging presence brushing against my arm cut through the fog. A figure stepped into focus, and I realized I could breathe again.

The witch girl.

In a flash she was standing in front of me, green eyes soft and strangely warm.

“Do you want me to dry your clothes?” she asked, her silvery voice at odds with the faint shadow of rot in her smile.

I blinked. “Huh?”

“Your clothes. I have a spell for that. Works in less than a minute.”

As she lifted a hand, everyone else drifted back into their conversations. I silently thanked the Bean Gods, or whatever divine caffeinated beings that watched over this madhouse for the addictive brew that kept the crowd too distracted to keep staring at me.

Warmth swept over me in a soft wave. In seconds, my clothes were crisp and dry, my hair stopped dripping, and even my sneeze reflex calmed down.

“Thanks,” I said quietly.

“Sure. I’m guessing you didn’t check the weather-forecast orb.”

“No. Forgot.”

Her eyes held a kind of empathy I wasn’t used to seeing in strangers.

“Sorry for the trouble.”

“No worries at all. But,” she added thoughtfully, “you can buy me chocolate cake to recharge my mana. That spell takes a lot.”

“Of course.”

She cutely giggled then smiled, revealing those dark rotten teeth I'd forgotten about. I jumped despite myself.

Ordering the cake was surprisingly easy. Apparently, the waiters understood actual words, not just laugh-language.

I handed her the plate. “Here. And thank you again.”

“Let’s share,” she said immediately.

“But it’s for you. I can get—”

“Silly.” She cut the cake in half and pushed one piece toward me. “I already had two vanilla cakes and a strawberry one. I won’t finish this.”

She devoured her half in one bite.

I stared at mine, suddenly rethinking everything I’d ever eaten. If cake did that to her teeth…

She sighed softly.

“You look like the cake insulted your ancestors.”

Then, gently:

“You know… you looked more scared of the room than the storm.”

Heat crept up my neck. “Didn’t think it was that obvious.”

“Oh, incredibly.” She leaned closer. “You walked in like you owned the place, but your eyes were doing this—” she wiggled her fingers—“like a baby owl thrown into a dragon den.”

Despite myself, I laughed. “I just… didn’t expect any of this.”

My hand gestured helplessly around the bizarre cafe.

“No one does the first time. Most students run back out screaming. Honestly, the storm rescued you from complete humiliation.”

“I wasn’t gonna run out screaming,” I muttered, looking away.

She gave me a soft and sincere smile that tugged at my heart.

“I’m not trying to make you feel better. I’m trying to make you feel… seen.”

My breath caught.

“Seen?”

“You walked in looking lonely,” she said simply. “Not dramatic lonely—just the kind where someone works very hard not to look lonely.”

Something in my chest tightened.

She nudged the cake toward me again.

“There’s nothing you can do right now. Just eat. You look under the weather.”

The phrase landed on me gently, deeper than it should have.

“I thought witches didn’t care about strangers,” I murmured.

“Most don’t,” she said. “But you looked like someone who’d actually appreciate having a friend.”

Her eyes were warm. Inviting.

I swallowed. “What if I do?”

She bumped my elbow lightly.

“Then finish your cake,” she said.

“Because friends don’t let friends starve after a storm.”