Disclaimer: I do not own Pokémon, If I did I would of became the Pokémon master already, I do not even own my OC's they were named after my lovely cousin. Any who on with the story!

I have an obsession with books and coffee.

Every Saturday morning, when the sun is just beginning to rise and the grass is still coated in dew, I put on my favorite jean jacket and walk to the public library to check out two novels. I say hello to the librarian, Marlene, and her granddaughter Yui, and smile to other residents of Kanto, Pallet Town, and walk two blocks north to my favorite Café for a black coffee, two milks added and one sugar.

I always sit in the corner by the window, just on the left far side when you enter the Café. The sun hits me at a perfect angle; the rays aren't too bright, but reflect onto my porcelain skin so well that my cheeks feel rosy by the time I leave.

I start with the thinner book first, drinking my coffee slowly. I always manage to burn my tongue anyway, and when I complete this first book, I order a cinnamon roll and a hot chocolate. I take a five minute break to eat my breakfast and drink my beverage, and then work my way into the second thicker book.

By the time I finish, the sun is at its highest point in the sky, and the streets are filled with human traffic. Mothers motivate their athletic kids to hurry up, get in the car, or they'll be late for their practices. Grandparents, like the librarian Marlene, patiently take their annoying, bratty, stubborn grandchildren to the park and to the candy store. Teenagers and young adults walk their dogs, always a partner by their side, usually of the opposite sex of course, and basking in the warm afternoon. Businessmen and women snake through slower walkers, talking into their cellular devices and jogging to make sure they are on time for the train or bus.

I have a reason for sitting by the window, the farthest seat to the left when entering the Café. I liked to speculate people. No, I don't stalk them. I simply observe them and, like all the books I read, I try to decipher their lives just through their appearances, actions, and if I'm lucky enough to hear them, quotes. I know the old saying, "Don't judge a book by its cover", but this wasn't anything like it.

I was a patient person. I understood people; I gave them second chances, and if not more than that. I forgive and forget easily. Sometimes too much to my dismay. And like the books I read, I try to create a story using my zealous imagination and creativity.

Like this morning, for example. I was halfway through my second book, in case you were curious, the book was an intense mystery about a schizophrenic medical patient who killed his autistic brother- when the entrance door to the Café rang open. The tiny bells above the door jingled together, indicating new customers coming in and going out. I meekly glanced up from my book, dog-earring the page, and taking another smooth sip of my hot chocolate. The warm liquid trickled down my throat and esophagus, casting a fuzzy warmth to coat my entire insides for a mere moment.

A man had entered, but he wasn't just "a man". He was, in the words of my lunatic mother, "The Man".

His hair was spiky and messy like he just rolled out of bed, with light brownish with reddish tints to it. From a profile view, I could already tell his eyes were a rich hazel-green, luscious and warm and tender, raw. His lips were in a perfect pout. His body perfectly toned, with a perfect milky-white glow for his skin tone.

The man seemed serious; he seemed to be the type of man who had no patience or tolerance with ignorant or immature people. I could respect this, I thought to myself sincerely. He wore a silver ring around is matrimonial ring finger; I assumed he was married. I shook the thought off, inventing more presumptions through his appearance and tone. His voice was husky, deep and soaked in sweet honey. It had a nice melody to it; it seemed the perfect fit for a woman with a light, upscale voice. He wore a satchel; I couldn't help but giggle, my cheeks flushing just at the idea. But then again, who was I to judge?

He had a breakfast bagel, eggs with bacon and spinach, and a straight black coffee ready to go. But as he made his turn to leave, his dark hazel eyes came across my isolated area. His perfect eyebrows rose spontaneously as I nearly dropped my hot chocolate.

The stupid smirk rose on The Man's face. "Leafy?"

It was ironic; it was the worst cliché, like the worst books ever written. Uncanny, if you will. Because this man, the one my mother would classify as "The One" for me was actually Gary Oak, my sister's ex-husband.

How ironic, isn't it? As ridiculous as it sees, this was where everything finally pieced itself together. Meeting my ex-brother-in-law at The Café.

Keep reading, it'll get better.

Authors note: So I decided to try out a short story, it does not take place in the Pokémon world I only used the location Kanto, Pallet town cause it fit better than using some random state. Other than then it is completely modernized. I hope you lovely readers like it, Review please! Criticism is always welcomed, I'm still new and I would love to improve.