Café. Waiting. Love.

by Giddens Ko

Genres: Coming of Age; Contemporary Romance; Workplace Romance

Synopsis

'Dreams that are laughable when said aloud are what's worth pursuing. Even if you fall, you do so with much poise.'

In a small, enigmatic café in Hsinchu, Taiwan, everyone is waiting for someone. Whether it's love, a second chance, or a sign of something greater. The café is more than just an ordinary coffee shop; it's a place for serendipitous encounters.

Si-Ying, a young woman working at the café, harbors a secret crush on the handsome Ze-Yu, who is always surrounded by a string of girlfriends. However, her life takes a turn when she befriends the quirky and earnest A-Tuo, who introduces her to a vibrant cast of characters who aren't what they seem to be, including a triad boss who is a cinephile and a laundromat boss who whips up exquisite dishes worthy of the Michelin stars.

As Si Ying's friendship with A-Tuo deepens, she begins to realize that her true feelings may not be for Ze-Yu after all. Within the café's walls, moments of quiet reflection reveal profound truths, and amidst the wait for someone else, Si-Ying learns that sometimes the most significant journey is the one inward.

** Translated from the Taiwanese by Shanna Tan **

Release date: August 27, 2026

Publisher: Headline

Print pages: 288

Sample

It might be something trivial,

like who’s sitting with whom at a dinner.

But as with most things in life,

you’d have the answer even before the question exists.

At least this story has an interesting start, thanks to Abusi.

Abusi, as in Ah-bu-si, is the nickname of the first lesbian I met, apparently inspired by the Hogwarts headmaster, Albus Dumbledore. As to why she chose to adopt the name of a white-haired old man, of all people, she had never mentioned, and I didn’t think to ask. Abusi, who sported a suave pixie cut, was a colleague at the café. Strictly speaking, she was my senior, given that she had started working here half a year before me and came with a wealth of experience from the famous ORSiR Café in Taichung. Abusi called me xiaomei – little sister – but refused to let me address her as dajie. ‘Big sister sounds gross,’ she said with a shudder. ‘Just call me Abusi.’

Tucked away in an alleyway in the night street market opposite National Tsing Hua University – also known as Tsingda – was our workplace, Café. Waiting. Love. Such a romantic name, isn’t it? It was what drew me, during the last summer break of senior high, to shyly step in and hand over my résumé, which was woefully empty save for my name and home phone number.

Abusi had a special ability. She could make any coffee. Literally! Even if the customer were to order an out-of-this-world concoction just for laughs, Abusi could whip it up without batting an eyelid. She became well-known among the regulars and students from Tsingda, from National Chiao Tung University, otherwise known as Chiaoda, and from Kuang-fu High School. Of course, Abusi’s superpower was put to the test regularly.

Sometime last month, at seven in the evening:

‘Excuse me . . . I-I’d like a special blend of the, erm . . . Tragically Epic Swordplay Battle at Mount Hua.’ Standing in front of the counter was a high school student, his face glistening in embarrassment. A couple of boys on the long sofa, clearly his friends and fellow martial hero-wannabes, hooted with laughter. I giggled.

Meanwhile, Abusi’s impassive gaze looked him up and down. ‘How would you like it done?’

The poor boy, who’d probably lost a bet, looked stupefied.

‘The special blend of the Tragically Epic Swordplay Battle at Mount Hua – how would you like it done? Rare, medium or well done? How many servings?’ Abusi repeated.

‘Er . . . M-medium? Six cups, please.’ The boy was sweating buckets. Behind him, his friends sniggered.

Five minutes later, when Abusi set down a tray of charcoal-black coffee topped with roasted onions, the boys gaped wordlessly at her.

‘Onions. I added raw onions,’ said Abusi coolly. ‘Didn’t you want it tragic?’

Without looking at the boys, she turned back towards the counter, leaving them momentarily stunned before breaking out in uncontrollable laughter once more.

Two weeks ago, on a slow Sunday afternoon:

‘One civet cat poop coffee, please,’ a middle-aged man grunted as he held a cigar between his lips. Each time he puffed out a ring of smoke, his belly threatened to burst through the seams of his dark suit. A familiar face at the café, he loved stretching Abusi’s creativity, not that she needed any help. We secretly nicknamed him the King of Wacky Orders.

This time, His Royal Wackiness had upped the game. Civet coffee, also known as Kopi Luwak, was a real drink, but one that came with an exorbitant price tag. Our boss had mentioned in passing a unique coffee made by roasting the droppings of the luwak, the palm civet cat, after it ingested a particular type of coffee bean. The luwak’s digestive system produced an aromatic secretion, giving the roasted droppings a rich chocolatey scent. Luwaks were increasingly rare, so the annual global production of their roasted droppings had dropped to less than a hundred pounds. And because it had become insanely popular with Japanese gourmands, the price of a single cup skyrocketed to more than NT$900. A small café like ours wouldn’t have the means to order the beans. Not that the thought had ever crossed our minds.

‘That’s so expensive, sir. If you’d like something with a rich chocolate aroma, how about a hot cocoa or a chocolate chip latte? The perfect drink for a chilly day like this.’ Feeling a little nervous, I plastered on a wide smile and tried to steer his attention to the two items that only cost NT$50 and NT$75 respectively. Meanwhile, the young lady boss continued to browse her tabloid magazine at the counter, clearly having no intention of coming to my rescue.

‘Get Abusi. I want my cat poop coffee! Heh heh.’ His Royal Wackiness fanned the stack of banknotes in his hand. ‘Money is no issue!’

I let out an inward sigh. Everyone could tell that the paunchy man had his eye on Abusi, but no one bothered to tell him that he’d never stand a chance. A moment later, Abusi emerged from the back kitchen with a mop in hand and coldly got him to repeat his order. Nodding, she scooped up the café’s resident cat, Grumps, who was chewing on a piece of baguette, and plonked him on the counter.

‘Our luwak here will probably be ready to poop in thirty minutes. Roasting takes another thirty minutes, and we’ll need ten more to brew the coffee. That’s one hour and ten minutes. Do you want to wait?’

Grumps gave a wriggle of his bum, his expression blank as usual.

Recovering from the initial shock, His Royal Wackiness retorted, ‘Ha! I’m not stupid! I know this cat – it’s Grumps.’

Abusi rubbed his soft belly and glanced at the boss.

Without taking her eyes off her magazine, Boss sighed dramatically. ‘Poor Grumps passed away last week. This is our new cat, Sumatra.’

His Royal Wackiness gawped.

‘His full name is Sumatra Luwak!’ I chimed in, putting on my best poker face.

The man glared at Grumps, who responded with a foul-smelling yawn.

‘One hour and ten minutes. What do you say?’ Abusi stared pointedly at him.

In the end, he fled the café with a chocolate chip latte to go. I was still giggling long after he was gone, but Abusi and Boss went on with their tasks as usual. They seriously made the perfect comedic duo.

Unfortunately for Grumps, from then on, he was christened Sumatra Luwak, shortened to Sumatra, in case some bored customer tried asking for cat poop coffee again.

Café. Waiting. Love. – the quirky café where it all began. It was September 2000. After spending the summer break at the café, I would be starting my final semester in high school. Meanwhile, the King of Mandopop Jay Chou had just released his debut album.

‘Abusi, you’re amazing. I wouldn’t have been able to handle the silly requests by those guys.’ I was practising frothing milk by hand, which was supposedly meant to make the foam smoother.

‘Xiaomei, give it a few months and you’ll be able to make all the coffees in the world, even those that don’t exist,’ Abusi said as she rinsed a Snoopy cup at the sink. ‘As to whether they’re drinkable, that’s not on you.’

I smiled, turning my attention back to the English vocabulary list I had propped against a mug stand. One week into the semester and I was still trying to juggle between studying for my university entrance exams and working part-time, living up to what I considered to be the wholesome, enviable lifestyle of a high school senior.

Disciplined and with purpose was the way I wanted to spend the final lap of high school. I had no interest in going to cram school only to continue taking naps or passing secret notes to the girls in class. Neither did I want to camp at the neighbourhood internet café that permanently stank of cigarettes to fight monsters in the virtual world and earn ruby-encrusted magical swords or gold coins that were completely useless in real life. At the café, I was learning how to make a good cup of coffee. There was also the bonus of working with poker-faced Abusi and the enigmatic lady boss.

On those days when my classmates visited the café, I’d greet them in my white apron, looking like the bedraggled princess in a fairy tale before her transformation. As I set down the cups of coffee that I made next to the pancakes drizzled with caramel sauce in a heart shape, I would puff out my chest in pride. See, I’m more independent than you guys.

‘Won’t your parents mind that you’re working here instead of going for extra classes?’ Abusi asked as she dried the last cup in the sink. It was almost half past ten, closing time.

‘My dad was a little worried at first, but Mum and I have reached a compromise. As long as I maintain my ranking in the monthly tests, I can stay here and earn extra cash instead. Cram school is a waste of time. The girls are just passing notes to each other, and the boys – urgh, those idiots who think they’re oh so handsome – would be trying to chat us up. Do they think they’re in some romantic drama?’ I scoffed. In high school, girls hated boys. That was a fact of life. But there was one exception – him.

‘I see. Maybe you can squeeze in a bit of revision before bedtime.’

‘When did you become so concerned about my studies?’ I teased.

‘I just don’t want to have to train a new colleague,’ Abusi replied tartly. Placing the last cup back on the shelf, she glanced at the wall clock. It was 10.25 p.m. The shop was closing soon, yet no one had asked for the Boss’s Special today. Boss was still waiting, waiting for the one.

In the empty café, the young proprietress was sitting cross-legged on the white velvet sofa with a book. Next to her was a round coffee table with two clean cups and saucers.

‘Five more minutes,’ Abusi said, folding her white apron neatly. She lit a cigarette. Abusi would only smoke indoors at closing time when the café was empty. Her thoughts seemed to have drifted elsewhere, and I suspected that she was counting down the seconds until she could pull down the shutters and meet her university student girlfriend for supper.

‘He’ll appear one day,’ I said to Boss, leaning against the countertop as I sipped the frothed milk. Mmm, this is smooth, I thought, pleased that I was getting better.

Boss looked up and gave me a knowing smile.

One day, Boss would meet her destined one. He would come no matter how busy work was in the day, or how terrible the weather was at night. Even if a typhoon hit Hsinchu, or a hailstorm pelted down, he’d move mountains to show up at the door to ask for Boss’s Special, which was limited to one customer a day and the only drink that the young proprietress would prepare herself (although her skills left much to be desired). And then, they would chat over coffee.

Such a person had yet to appear. Because Boss’s story had also yet to begin.

‘One of you can take home the cheesecake. It’ll be a waste to let them go bad,’ Boss said, pointing at the display fridge. Every now and then, we’d have leftover pastries.

Abusi shook her head. ‘Not me, I’m on a diet,’ she said, stubbing out the cigarette before turning to pull the shutters down.

I happily packed the slices into a box. Dad and Mum would be so pleased to have these as a midnight snack.

On the way home, I stopped my bicycle at a red light. The famous multi-lane intersection opposite Tsingda was where everyone, from undergraduates to the professors, would ignore the big overhead bridge over Guangfu Road and instead use the traffic police’s shrill whistle as a guide to weave their way between the cars and scooters. Would I also throw out all regard for traffic laws once I started university?

Every evening, I’d watch them navigate the maze of two- and four-wheeled vehicles, the carefree smiles on their faces a stark contrast to the high-strung tension of high school students, especially those of us in our final year. Crossing over to university life seemed like a magical rite of passage that would transform our dull-routined lives. Girls would finally have the right to choose to wear trousers instead of skirts, and boys would no longer just be playing basketball or video games all the time.

University life was a street and 331 days away. I couldn’t wait to step into the next chapter in my life, and that kept me motivated to stay up until two in the morning to study. And four hours later, I’d wake up and shuffle sleepily to my school – National Hsinchu Girls’ Senior High – where an endless slew of mock tests awaited us during the morning study period. Despite my best efforts, I still had some way to go to close the gap between me and my dream university.

The lights changed. I pedalled hard while outlining an English essay in my mind. Tonight’s topic was ‘If I were a President’, so I amused myself by coming up with all kinds of ideas to reform Taiwan.

The bicycle wobbled over the bumpy asphalt, and I had to shelf my half-written essay to keep my balance as the plastic bag on the handlebar swayed like a pendulum.

Hsinchu, the city of wind, lived up to its name, especially at night. Ahead, Guangfu Road sloped downwards. With the strong gust in my face, I struggled to maintain speed, as though there was an invisible force pushing against me. I was too distracted to think about English idioms and proverbs, so I started humming Jacky Cheung’s ‘I Want to Enjoy the Breeze with You’ – the perfect song for the moment.

The old bicycle squeaked as it crawled past one street and the next. By the time I returned to my neighbourhood in downtown Hsinchu, it was already eleven and I was drenched in sweat. At this rate, I’d probably be growing big calf muscles or what people called ‘carrot legs’.

Sliding open the creaky metal gates, I was greeted by the familiar scent of incense. The TV in the living room was airing one of those call-in shows on current local politics. I privately thought they were even worse than soap operas, but everyone belonging to my parents’ generation loved them.

‘Dad, I’m home. Boss’s treat again!’ I placed the plastic bag on the table.

Dad shuffled over and opened the box. ‘Wow, these are expensive, eh?’

‘Yeah. Got lucky!’ I bounced up the stairs with my school bag.

Dad called out after me. ‘Your brother’s still in the shower! Go study first!’

Dad spent his whole life working as a driver. He’d started off with excavators, cranes, bulldozers. After marrying Mum, he bought a car with his savings – a Yue Loong Sunny from the Taiwanese manufacturer – and became a taxi driver. Around the time I was still a toddler, a speeding truck crashed into the taxi, making a huge dent in the bonnet, and after the narrow escape, Dad scrapped the car and switched to driving public buses. ‘Never heard of bus drivers dying in a car crash,’ he said with a laugh. And to this today, he continued plying the city bus routes.

‘Asshole!’ I deliberately raised my voice as I passed the bathroom. Urgh, why did that idiot have to hog the shower at this hour? I wouldn’t be able to concentrate when I was sweaty all over.

The door cracked open and a wet head stuck out.

‘Something stinks,’ said my brother in a sing-song voice. ‘Who’s the stinky poo poo outside?’ Before I could aim a good kick in his face, he retracted his head. Seriously, whoever claimed that older brothers are caring and protective of their younger sisters must be joking.

Li Feng-ming turned twenty this year, but his mental age was stuck at a toddler level. His favourite hobby was to bully me. He relished the joy of beating me to the toilet or shower, and when it was finally my turn, he’d scare me with ghostly howls. And his worst crime? Sharing a room with me for the past seventeen years.

Currently a Year Three architecture student at Chung Hua University, my brother’s dream was to become an architect, but his lovely sister here was sure that if I were to quantify how (un)hard he was working, minus the length of his manga collection and divide it by his IQ, he would probably end up as a foreman at best.

Grumbling under my breath, I stepped into our room, hung up my bag, and took out my maths textbook. Maths was my best subject, but with my damp shirt clinging to my back, my brain felt muddled. It didn’t help that combinatorics was particularly tricky, so in the past ten minutes I’d already gotten five sums wrong.

‘What nonsense is this! “Seven girls and eight boys are sitting at a round table for New Year’s Eve dinner. Mary and Joseph are giving each other the cold shoulder so they refuse to be next to each other, while Peter and Thomas want to sit side by side. Considering the above, how many ways are there to arrange the seats?”’

Whoever came up with this mathematical theory sorely lacked awareness about social etiquette, I snorted. Propping my chin with my palm, I read the question again. It only mentioned four people by name. So what about the rest? Did nobody care what they think?

Even if Person A doesn’t dislike anyone in particular, that doesn’t mean they’d be OK sitting next to B. Or maybe C has a crush on D and secretly hopes to sit with D? Since it’s dinner, they might want to sit in front of their favourite dish. Wouldn’t it be more practical if the question included details of the menu and everyone’s preferences? How was I supposed to guess otherwise? With a group of people, there were bound to be relationship dynamics at play, so the actual number of permutations would be fewer than what was theoretically possible. Such a silly question!

It might be something trivial, like who’s sitting with whom at a dinner, but as with most things in life, you’d have the answer even before the question exists.

‘What a waste of my time,’ I concluded with a sigh.

But I knew that if I kept up with such pragmatic thinking, I’d never be able to make progress. I flipped over the page. Just then, the door swung open.

‘Stinky poo. Go shower and wash off your stench.’ Feng-ming came in with a towel draped over his head. Plonking himself on his bed, he picked up the hairdryer. A loud hum filled the room.

‘One second. I want to finish this question first.’ Out of habit, I chewed the end of my pencil, adding another dent in the tiny eraser. My reputation as a maths expert was at stake. No way was I going to let these silly sums beat me.

Because our house only had two bedrooms, I grew up sharing a room with my brother. I’d been counting down to the day I could claim the space for my own, but unfortunately, he chose to study at Chung Hua University in Hsinchu. To save some money (and I suspect to continue bullying me), he didn’t move to the dorms but remained at home to infect me with his hopeless immaturity.

I cast a dirty glance at the shirtless idiot who was now attacking me with the hot air from the noisy hairdryer.

‘Don’t you have anything better to do? No wonder you’re still single,’ I grumbled as I dodged the blast of heat.

Feng-ming snorted. ‘Heh. Well, I’m not the worst out there.’

‘Really? What kind of loser can’t get a girlfriend after two whole years?’ I retorted, despite knowing full well that he was busy enough with his part-time job and school activities.

‘My dear little sister, if I really set my sights on someone, be it the campus babe or the school belle, who can resist my charms? The girl who deserves me hasn’t appeared yet and the ones around me are like you. Can’t blame me for staying single, can you?’

I rolled my eyes, swatted the hairdryer away, and turned my attention to the next maths question. A frown creased my forehead. Who would put chickens and rabbits in the same cage?

From the corner of my eye, I saw my dear brother take a glob of hair wax and style his hair in a rumpled mess that made a chicken nesting box look neat. Standing in front of the half-length mirror, he whistled and winked at his reflection.

I guess universities don’t just produce scholars, I thought drily.

‘Anyway, on the topic of girlfriends . . . heh, I heard the most ridiculous story at the rollerblading club today,’ Feng-ming said while preening himself in front of the mirror. Every night, he’d share an eye-opening story or two about his university life.

‘Maths requires focus, thank you very much,’ I replied tartly, but in fact, I secretly looked forward to his tales. It was like getting an early taste of life after high school.

‘You know Tsingda, right?’ He coiled the electrical cord around the hairdryer’s barrel, tossed it aside and lay down on his bed.

‘Pfft, of course. The café I work at is right smack in the Tsingda Night Market street,’ I replied, a little distracted from the chickens and rabbits chasing each other in my head.

‘OK, OK, fine. Anyway, we met up with their rollerblading club today to divide the workload for the school outreach programme,’ he said, his feet nudging the pair of rollerblades that were hanging by their laces across the edge of the bed.

I turned around. ‘Outreach? What’s that?’

‘That means visiting middle or high schools to teach basic rollerblading skills, promote the sport, that sort of thing. We then include photos of the activities in our report to secure the club budget for next year,’ he explained, tut-tutting at my ignorance.

‘Mm hmm, go on.’ I spun my pen absent-mindedly.

‘Oh, where was I? Anyway, we were eating some delicious braised lu wei and discussing the programme. At first, everyone was quite serious until . . . Ha ha ha! We were introduced to the most unfortunate guy on earth. Wait, I forgot his name. Ah Tu, or was it Ah Du?’

‘Doesn’t matter. So what did this Ah Tu or Ah Du do?’ I urged him to continue.

Feng-ming flashed a grin. ‘Gotcha! You’re distracted!’

‘Are you a kid? Go on, I’m listening,’ I said as I flipped to the back of the book and memorised the steps in the model answer.

‘Let’s call him Ah Tu then. He’s also a third year, but I haven’t seen him around before. When their club president introduced him, it was fucking hilarious. I almost spit out a braised egg.’

He cleared his throat, imitating the club president’s tone and patting imaginary Ah Tu’s shoulders next to him. ‘This is our newest member, Ah Tu. All right, ready for one interesting fact about him? This time last year, his girlfriend of one and a half years dumped him for a lesbian! And ever since then, he’s been single as hell.’ Feng-ming slapped his le. . .