Beyond Coffee & Croissants: Memories of the KICS Cauldron
The morning class had not started yet, but the familiar aroma of Mr. Mubarak's coffee had already deserted the KICS cafeteria. My stomach grumbled in protest, a hollow echo in the quiet hall. No steamy mugs, no laughter bouncing off the walls, no Mr. Mubarak's booming voice calling out orders with a twinkle in his eye. Just rows of empty chairs, the silence heavy with the absence of our morning ritual.
I used to love those pre-class moments, huddled with fellow teachers over steaming cups, swapping stories like trading cards. The aroma of freshly baked pastries mingled with the rich arabica, a symphony of deliciousness that even Starbucks could not rival. My son Thor, trained by Mr. Mubarak himself, used to strut behind the counter, proudly crafting lattes for his mama. Moreover, those reserved breads, still warm from the oven, oh, the memories they hold!
It was not just the coffee, however. The cafeteria was my sanctuary; the drama rooms are a short walk to the cafeteria in the world of KICS. There, I would scribble notes, plan lessons, and let my thoughts unfurl like steam from a mug. The laughter, banter, and camaraderie, a warm hug before the classroom plunge, fueled my day.
Now, the silence gnawed at me. I missed the clinking of spoons, the whispered secrets shared over sugar packets, and the comforting rhythm of our shared routine. The cafeteria was not just a coffee place; it was a heartbeat, a soul, a microcosm of the warmth and joy that pulsed through KICS. And I, a lonely satellite, adrift in its absence.
Comments
Post a Comment