She had always liked being quietly alone. Her heightened sensitivity made her entire nervous system feel frazzled around others, trying to read their moods and gauge her reactions and juggle them like chainsaws and hedge trimmers on a tightrope covered in maple syrup and ants. Whilst she tried to pass as a normal human being, on the inside she had always been mostly all a-tremor. Being on her own was like snow blanketing hills or water in her ears - all dull silence, wrapped comfortably around her shoulders.

It was also bliss to find a place to enjoy a coffee in peace. No one around to say 'oh, did you make me a cup?" or ask her what she was doing that day. How would she know, if she didn't even know herself?

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The psych had warned her that coffee wasn't a good idea, but she never liked being told what to do, and despite waiting months to get in to see someone that year, she cancelled the following appointments without supplying a reason. She would have given up the black stuff over her dead trembling body. At least caffeine made her feel slightly alive. Fuck chai and dandelion tea. Fuck chamomile and matcha, peppermint or beetroot powder and acai almond latte.

She felt mad even thinking about it, even from her quiet padded room later, where the white pillows of snow blanketed the noise of the prison.

The Quietest Grind On Earth was a hard to find cafe on the edge of the city. One either stumbled upon it or heard about it word of mouth. It was said that any mention of it on the internet was quickly erased, so anti tech they were. Good grinds should speak for themselves, not have influencers speak for them, the menu had declared in a short blurb at the bottom. Don't bother reviewing us, it continued. We don't care about anything but coffee. If you're here, you're meant to be. Ssssh, and enjoy our brews.

It was her third time there when her life as she knew it ended for good. She loved going because it was the most blissfully quiet place she'd ever been, even if it was full of people. The baristas wore headphones and gestured at each other with fingers and notepads. One could only hear the clink of teaspoons, the faint white noise of a dishwasher, and the river far below the balcony. It was like an orgasmic, whisper soft ASMR session.

There, she could think or own thoughts, or even better, think nothing at all. If she could have given the place stars, she would have given it three hundred out of ten.

Until.

Why anyone would enter a place so heavenly quiet and turn on one's phone to play music beggared belief. Later she thought that perhaps she could have tolerated it if they'd played some nice reggae or - no, she wouldn't have done things differently. Tunes on a mobile device are bassless and tinny. Worse, it was Oasis's Wonderwall, and she hated that song with a passion. Her teeth had begun to grind and her hands trembled.

She was sure that the jury would understand her case. Surely everyone understood the need for a quiet coffee.

The Quietest Grind on Earth would make the internet that week, and this time they wouldn't be able to quash their online presence.

'Woman Kills Mobile Phone Nuisance with a Teaspoon to the Ear' the headline will shout. Another read: 'Would You Kill for a Quiet Coffee? This Woman Did', featuring a picture of her captured on CCTV as she fled the scene. She hadn't even finished her long black or complimentary cookie.

The shop would be shut by the end of the week, packing up the coffee machine and moving to another city, another quiet laneway.

Good coffee deserved to be drunk in quiet reverence.

This time, they'd ban phones on entry too.

This post was written for The Cinnamon Cup Coffee Community's writing prompt this week - you can find it here.

With Love,

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This time they'd ban mobile phones at the door.