Mixing things up a bit this week! “The TearBrew Cafe” is a short story I've penned. Although I read and write a lot of fiction, I've mostly kept it under wraps—until the experience of self-publishing a children's book ignited something in me. This community has been wonderfully supportive, so I'm taking the leap to share some of my more creative work with you all. I'm eager for your feedback.
It should take you about 10-20 minutes to read, and your time would mean the world to me. After you've read it, I'd love to hear whether I should continue this story and, of course, how I might improve it.
The TearBrew Cafe
by Katya Cares
"Are you crying on the subway again? We have what you need at the The TearBrew Cafe!"
"These subway ads are eerily specific," the commuter murmured, half to herself. The identical car cards towered above a crowd of downcast faces.
The daily destination was 34th Street, although the heat and odors made for an unpleasant few minutes each time.
It's Monday in the city, and work was set to start in an hour. The woman, who has dark brown hair with a blunt cut, was early as always. Today, she was wearing a tailored wool blazer, which was the newest addition to her capsule wardrobe.
The walk started short and uneventful. There was the usual pushing, shoving, and waiting for the light. However, amidst the monotony, something grabbed for attention: An unusual, orderly line.
The pop-up cafe read "The TearBrew Cafe
.”
They had what I need, the woman echoed, joining the line despite not having shed a tear all year - neither in private nor in public.
This line was impressively long, and so she rationalized that since nobody appeared strikingly sad in this line, it was likely because the coffee was good.
Either way, it couldn't be worse than the office coffee.
And if it is even worse than the office coffee, I would learn this sooner or later, either on my own or from the team. So why not find out now?
It would give me something to talk about at the All Hands meeting... There is never anything to talk about at the All Hands...
The line remained stagnant for a few minutes, with no one leaving or entering.
Or maybe I am out of the loop again and this is one of those speakeasies for lucky people who don’t have to work on Monday mornings...
Or maybe these people aren’t so lucky and they just had just been fired. That's why they are crying on the subway…
Or maybe it is a pop-up store! Who are these people, anyway? It is 8 am in midtown, and they are already waiting in line, eager to drink or buy a new purse.
The interior of the cafe could not be seen, but eventually, a group of people came out. There was nothing particularly unusual about the people leaving the cafe or those waiting to enter. Just a sea of New Yorkers, no different from those on the train. The bouncer started allowing others to enter, and the early bird followed suit.
It was dark, and the bouncer's voice, unexpectedly gentle, announced, "Welcome to the TearBrew Cafe. No phones allowed. Please proceed to the left to place your order and then take a seat on the right. You have 15 minutes, starting when you sit.”
"What would you like?" said the barista.
"I don’t see a menu. I don’t see much..."
"If you can pay, each beverage is 15 dollars. That is with taxes and tip."
"Reasonable..."
"What would you like?" the voice repeated.
"Oh. An oat milk latte with a splash of hazelnut?" Girly guessed.
"Ok, name?"
"G.I.R.L.Y."
"Ok, Joe will show you to your seat."
A man far too young to work at a store or a speakeasy guided her to her seat, which was at an old looking marble table. The table felt cool to her touch. It was a welcomed sensation on that particularly hot winter morning. A few candles provided enough illumination for her to see the marble patterns on the table, but not much else.
A familiar melody filled the air. Girly's fingers started tapping on the smooth marble.
It had been a while since Girly last played the old piano at home, but sitting in the dark cafe, that fact became irrelevant. She could feel her fingers striking the keys and the keys jumping back to her touch.
F, A, G, F, Ceeee, B, C, D & Aaaay.
As the song faded away, Girly focused on two things. Firstly, the melody was Erik Satie's "Gymnopédie No.1," which was her favorite piece to play in 4th grade when her siblings were fighting. Secondly, she wondered if everyone just heard her two hands playing the table.
Shhhooooot. She shifted in her chair and looked around. The dim lighting made it difficult to make out anyone. She had never felt this grateful for a mysterious dark room.
She noticed water, perfectly iced. In addition to the water, there was a box of tissues and hand sanitizer on the table. There were also two identical devices. Kindles? iPads? Those magic boards with disappearing images that she and her siblings shared as kids? The boards already had something typed on them.
One said "This is for us.
" The second one said "This is for you.
"
"Us
" felt easier. Girly picked it up and pressed "next
".
"Share with us what you’re thinking about,"
the screen read. Then more buttons started to appear. "Relationship Woes," "Existential Dread," "Workplace Stress," "Coping with Death," "I’m Just Tired," "Share Your Own Thought."
Shoot again. Girly grimaced I’m not thinking about anything. "I'm Just Tired"
seemed most truthful, even if it was only 8 am.
Squinting and turning, Girly only now noticed how each occupied table has this device prepped upright, like an open book on a reading stand.
She couldn’t see the people sitting by the tables, but she could read the glow-in-the-dark text on their iPads. This place had suddenly become much more fun!
Only one other person had chosen "I'm Just Tired," and the shape seemed to be that of a man around her age, slouched in a suit.
The rest of the tablets provided more detailed information, intended for everyone to see. One tablet described a dying husband, while another seemed to express anxiety about a work presentation. There were also a few existential concerns. It was actually less than what she had expected for New York City. The tablet closest to her displayed a wall of text that she had to squint to read. Girly reached for her glasses.
"Torie is ignoring me again. I reached out to apologize… and might have sent 10 texts, but I haven't received any response from her. Not even a single text all weekend! Not a call. Not a Slack message. Now it is Monday, and I don’t know what will happen when I see her at the office. All I wanted to do was apologize..."
"Here’s your latte, oat milk, with a splash of hazelnut," a gentle voice had whispered and faded away. Girly had forgotten about the coffee entirely.
The cup's warmth had seeped into Girly's palms, perfectly balanced like the serene design of the saucer and plate below it. The smell had been sharp, awakening her senses. The hazelnut had added the perfect finishing touch to each sip. This could very well have been the best coffee in New York City.
Time for me, Girly motivated herself, as she pressed "Next"
.
The screen transformed into a notebook, which Girly appreciated for its wooden journal-like feel. She wondered what material it was made of.
Tap. tap. tap. F, A, G, F, Ceeee, B, C, D & Aaaay. There wasn't anything to write, but if you listened closely, past the music, you could hear a few people crying.
Girly took a sip of her coffee, and sentences began to form in her mind. She started writing, picturing the woman sitting on the far left. She wondered how long ago she had met her husband, way before he showed any signs of illness. Maybe she had met him in college, or even on Tinder before Tinder became Tinder.
But then, the text disappeared and was replaced with "Thank you for staying for 15 minutes at The TearBrew Cafe.
”
A gentle voice said firmly, "Please make your way to the exit or to The Couch in the back."
Girly remained silent at All Hands, as if this cafe, just a few steps away from work, might possibly stay a secret.
The following morning, she decided to go back to the same coffee shop to see if the coffee was consistently good. In New York City, it's possible that a good experience can be just a fluke. You try something once and the next day you might feel completely different about it. It's best to test everything out a few times.
No, each sip was even better than last time. Such joy.
At the same table, closest to her on the left, sat the same shape with a new rant. “Torrie ignored me at work today. I don’t know what to do. I said hi, nothing. She just looked down…”
More male shapes were surrounding her this time. Each one of their tablets read “I’m Just Tired.”
This time, Girly proudly broadcasted “Relationship Problems”
, even though she hasn’t been close to a relationship in years.
This time, she wrote about how tired young men must be on Tuesdays at 8 am.
In no time, two visits turned into five visits, and before the working girl realized it, 15 minutes at TearBrew Cafe became a regular part of her morning commute.
"Are you crying on the subway again? We have what you need at the The TearBrew Cafe!"
Just seeing the ad turned the smelly train into a fragrant coffee shop, and saliva turned into hazelnut.
When Girly finally shared her new discovery with Lucy on their weekly wine night Wednesday, Lucy responded with concern.
"So now they're monetizing sadness? They'll make money out of anything these days! Why do you go anyway? I get it for those sobbing souls on the subway, but you? You're not exactly known for wearing your heart on your sleeve.”
"I go for the coffee,” Girly responded honestly.
One particularly sunny afternoon, Girly asked the barista if it felt different to work in a cafe where everyone was sad instead of happy and productive.
“Baristas are always therapists, here or at Starbucks. What are you ordering? Hazelnut latte?”
"Apparently, it is expensive because the money goes towards paying for the space, the baristas, and the therapists. Apparently, the lady who started it was tired of crying in the bathroom at work or seeing crying girls on the train. They say they want to help people feel less alone. It seems like a gimmick. I'll stick to crying after drinking my $4 bodega coffee and then going to my $200 therapy, thanks. But it hasn't shut down yet. Do you think it’ll stay in business?" Lucy asked, while pointing to the New York Times article on her phone.
"I hope so," said Girly with concern.
"Welcome back. Your usual today? Maybe today, you'll stop at the Couch?"
"Yes, thanks, same latte. What is the Couch?"
"The Couch is in the back," said the barista, sharing nothing new.
Girly did not go searching for a mysterious back room with a mysterious couch. Instead, she enjoyed her latte and worked on her latest story featuring Torie and Jen, the name she gave to the verbose crying girl.
When her text disappeared at the end, as it always did, she felt no particular way, as usual.
"Hello again," said the barista. "Oat hazelnut latte again," answered Girly.
"Actually, it's brilliant. I bet they sell way more coffee because each person can only stay 15 minutes," Lucy exclaimed.
Girly wondered why Lucy didn't just try TearBrew herself. However, the idea of Lucy sitting at the table beside her, reading what she writes, made her feel queasy.
As a result, Girly developed the habit of simply nodding whenever TearBrew was mentioned by anyone. If she spotted someone she knew in the TearBrew line, she would walk around until she could enter with the next group. There was one occasion when she went all the way to the Roosevelt Hotel, only to turn back when she saw the long line of migrants. A few times, she was even late for being early to work.
It took a few weeks for Girly to wonder if anyone else came to the cafe as routinely as she did.
After all, people cry once in a random while, not every morning for 15 minutes at 8 am.
Maybe they should cry more often, and in a timed manner, and that is the point.
Or maybe everyone is pretending to be sadder than they actually are just to justify buying overpriced coffee.
Or maybe I’m the only person who would take advantage of such a space for no good reason at all. Am I taking the spot from people who need it more? Like those migrants? The line outside this cafe is always big.The block of migrants sleeping on the sidewalk seems to go on and on too..
Girly suddenly felt cold and hugged her coffee to her chest.
Or is my daily 15 dollars helping to keep the cafe afloat? What will I do if they close? Go to Starbucks where everyone looks well-dressed and productive and …happy? No, this place needs to stay open. TearBrew cafe needs loyal customers like.. me and Jen…
Where is that Jen girl? Girly looked around. Even with glasses and squinting, Girly couldn’t seem to find her.
Girly felt colder and stared blankly at the tablet.
"Share Your Own Thought,"
the screen offered, and Girly reluctantly obliged.
"I am bored,"
Girly wrote using the stylus, then pushed the screen toward her neighbors.
Her eyes had adjusted to the darkness after weeks of coming here, but instead of enjoying this freedom, she wished it were even darker.
Girly's fingers hovered over the keys of her other device, lingering in the air as if weighed down by invisible anchors. Her eyes blurred, making it difficult to focus on the screen.
F#, A, G, F#, C#, B, C#, D, A. The next five minutes dragged on.
Unexpectedly, the tablet displayed a notification: "We hope you feel better soon,"
even though nothing had been written.
Then, "Thank you for spending 15 minutes at The TearBrew Cafe."
Her eyes darted between the screen's polite farewell and the quieter, more contemplative realm supposedly in the back.
The announcement echoed throughout the cafe: "Please make your way to the exit or to The Couch in the back."
Another Monday. Same latte. Same voice. Yet this time, it felt less like repetitive instructions meant to keep New Yorkers moving, and more like a warm invitation for Girly to choose.
Thank you for reading “The TearBrew Cafe”, my debut short story on this platform! While I typically focus on non-fiction here, I'm pondering the idea of expanding this space to include more fictional pieces. Your thoughts would be immensely valuable to me.
If you enjoyed this story, please don't hesitate to let me know. And if it really resonated with you, I'd be honored if you could share it with friends—growing my subscriber base is an ongoing goal.
What's next for Girly? I am considering continuing the story since I have more written about the TearBrew Cafe and the characters who frequent it. Maybe I could turn it into a novelette? I could post one part at a time here and gather feedback from subscribers as I progress.
"Writing is an exploration. You start from nothing and learn as you go." — E.L. Doctorow