Tea

Andra Toropoc
You were coming towards me with your eyes glued to your phone, I was buying the record, when we bumped and crashed into one another. I hope I made it in time, you said, pointing knowingly at the Wish you were here title I was holding against my chest. We both laughed and the scented air at Bernschutz enveloped us. We went in and our cheeks touched over the small table while we were looking through the menu without actually seeing a thing. We make the best rooibos in town, said the girl. It's our very first memory, and we bring it back whenever we enjoy our favourite cinnamon coffee in each other's arms. Just like we did once.
 
 Florina Hegedüs
Not a thought was running through my head that afternoon. It was just before the holidays. The snowflakes descended timidly. They vanished on the sidewalk. And yet, if I come to think of it, there might have been something in my subconscious mind. Otherwise, how would I have ended up on her street, at her door on which I knocked thrice. A man with a turban on his head opened. He was sitting on a flying carpet. He led me into the lounge. I told him I missed Jasmin. He simply stroke a lamp and a tea cup appeared. It had a subtle sweet taste, an intoxicating fragrance. It brought back all of my memories.

Caterina Tudorache
Man, just. The man lifted his gaze and then tried to lift his head off the table as well. Man, no. Yea. Exactly. His mate, just a little more sober, he rose somewhat shakily because of gravity. Man, yeah. That one, man. That one. Something. Pfff. The lady at the bar, plump and past her time, shook her head in disdain. I have a liver of my own, a house, children. The men stared at her almost straight. You have what? Children. But how'd you manage that, you're so ugly. And foolish, you're not even married. You can't even mix water with wine. Buy us a round and come under the table with us.

(Translated by Diana Gabriela Radu / University of Bucharest, Faculty of Foreign Languages and Literatures, MTTLC, year I / Corrected by Silvia Petrescu, coordinator of the translations)

Real Fiction is a collective project started in 2013 by Florin Piersic Jr. The concept of Real Fiction continued to exist as a Facebook group, after a volume of stories was published at Humanitas Publishing House. (In January 2025, the group has 13,600 members.) The authors write ultra-short stories, with the texts limited to 500 characters (in Romanian, so the length of the English translation might be a little different) - a flash-fiction exercise on a topic that changes every few days. The group's coordinators are Florin Piersic Jr., Gabriel Molnar, Răzvan Penescu, Luchian Abel, Monica Aldea, and Vlad Mușat. (Drawing by Adrian T. Roman)

Versiunea în română a acestui text se poate citi aici, în rubrica Ficțiuni Reale.