We were over my aunt’s house for dinner and each time we get together, someone reads our fortune from a coffee cup.
I’ve attempted this for the past eight months while developing a taste for bitter, dirt-like Armenian coffee. Every time I flipped my cup over and let it dry, no coffee appeared in the cup. Even if it was the same coffee, my entire family would find thick black paste inside of theirs, except me. Maybe I was overdramatic, but I experienced much emotional trauma due to it; I felt like God was telling me I was going to die. Soon enough after the pattern kept repeating, and kept reflecting my invisibility, I went to an urgent mental health center. Anyways, my mom read mine today. And the cup was stuck to the plate. That meant that “some vun love you bvery, bvery much.” And I think I know who that is; I am going on a date with him tomorrow for some Nargile on the beach. xoxo.