matcHa

Hanni always liked the taste of matcha.

If you gave her the chance, she’d drone on and on about its “fresh and earthy taste”, but you always took the chance to remind her of how it tastes like grass ripped straight from the soil. It always annoyed her when you said that, but the octave of her giggle and the way her cheeks puffed up when she smiled was worth the slap on the arm.

It didn’t take long for her to bring a tin of the stuff home so she could make it herself. Every morning without fail, Hanni would wake up before the sun and make herself a cup while she waited for sunrise. She’d always offer to make you a cup, and you’d always decline, content just to sit with her as she quietly sipped on her grass drink. That small container of green powder blew a hole through your wallet, but you would gladly empty your bank account if it meant getting to wake up to her every morning, her messy bedhead and your wrinkled T-shirt draped over her small body a staple memory in your mind.

These days, you still wake up before the sun. You’re not sure why. No more early morning alarms or the gentle stirring of sheets or that sleepy grumble she always did that woke you up—just the faint hum of the ceiling fan to greet you every morning. The empty space on your mattress is a sight you still have yet to get used to. Sometimes you still reach out without thinking. With no one stealing your sheets in the middle of the night anymore, the weight of the covers feels like a bag of bricks on your chest.

Matcha still tastes like grass. You tried all kinds of sweeteners and syrups, but that bitter taste still lingers in the back of your throat. And yet, you drink it every morning while waiting for the sunrise in the chair that used to be hers. As the first sunlight hits your face, you take a sip and imagine what she might’ve been thinking about. Maybe a song she was obsessed with at the time, or plans she had with her friends that weekend, or simply enjoying the taste of matcha on an early morning. 

You’ll never know. You never asked.

You’re still trying to find out why she liked matcha so much. It’s, frankly, disgusting. But you want to like it. You want to like it so badly.

Because Hanni always liked the taste of matcha.