8 Years Ago
THE SCENT of warm coffee hung in the air. Rich and slightly bitter, it was softened by the milk and sugar stirred into each cup, deepening its taste. Thin wisps of steam curled upward from freshly brewed coffee, blending with the smell of baked cookies that never failed to make my mouth water.
The café was known as a study hub for students. Aside from being close to the university, it carried a calm, steady atmosphere that made it easy to settle in. The scent of coffee alone was enough to ease my thoughts and help me focus on what I was reading. That was why I frequented the place whenever I studied.
Today, the café was packed. Midterms were only three days away, and every table was filled with students buried in books and notes, all of them racing against time.
"One Spanish latte." The girl with the cute bob haircut appeared beside me, a wide grin stretching across her lips as she placed the cup on the table. "For my favorite attorney."
I sighed. "I told you to stop calling me that."
"But it suits you," she insisted as she set the cup down carefully, then glanced at the open pages in front of me. "That's a lot of words you've got there."
I thought she would walk away to take another order, but she stayed, leaning slightly closer as she peeked at my notes.
"Midterms been burning your eyebrows?" she asked, her voice teasing as if the exams had set my brain on fire.
I nodded, lifting the cup. The warmth seeped into my hands. "You ask as if you don't have one coming up in three days," I said, setting my pen down and sipping my latte.
"I do, but I study in advance."
I turned my attention to her, her eyes scanning the papers scattered across the table. She was wearing a white polo, topped with the café's brown apron embroidered with the café's name at the center of her chest. Her brown bob was neatly fixed, making her look younger than her age and undeniably cute.
Her name was Megan Natsha Quinn—Natsha, not Natasha. She was a junior from the same university, though from a different department. She worked here during her vacant hours to support her studies. We were not close friends, but she was nosy and liked being mischievous whenever she saw me. Her playfulness was not irritating. It felt more like quiet companionship, and I did not mind it.
Megan glanced around before pulling a vacant chair closer and sitting across from me. Resting her chin on her hand, she tilted her head and studied my face.
"How's the coffee?" smiling as she watched me take a sip from the cup she had served.
I shrugged. "It's fine."
The coffee she makes in this café is actually good. I just did not want to inflate her ego, so I gave only a fair compliment when she asked.
"You always say that." Her lips puckered into a small pout, clearly unimpressed with my feedback. "You know, admitting it tastes good won't hurt."
"But it would be a lie."
She raised a brow. "You lie in the sense that you order it almost every day when you're here."
"So you watch me every time I come in?" I lifted an eyebrow in return.
She froze, realizing she had been caught off guard. Her ears slowly turned red. I chuckled as she covered them with both hands and rubbed them, as if that might hide the color.
Megan was cute, and I had to admit it. Sometimes, she was exactly what I needed to ease the pressure of academics. She was unaware that she could be funny without trying and oddly comforting in a place filled with stress.
She stopped rubbing her ears and looked at me. "You like making fun of me," she said. "How about you start liking me too?"
Oh. That agenda again.
I set my cup down and leaned a little closer, a soft smile settling on my lips. The way she froze on the spot was quietly satisfying. Her eyes widened, her shoulders stiffened, and the confidence she displayed evaporated in an instant.
I had noticed it before. I always did this to her when I got the chance. Ever since the first time we met, she had never stopped talking about how she liked me. She said it openly, shamelessly to be precise, as if liking someone were the easiest thing in the world.
I tilted my head slightly. "Careful," I said lightly. "You might not be able to handle me when I like you back."
For a moment, the noise of the café faded, leaving only the space between us and the sound of her shallow breathing as she tried to recover from her own teasing.
It was not just her ears now. Her cheeks had turned red too.
I burst out laughing at how flustered she looked, then leaned back to give her some space. I laughed so hard I forgot how stressed I was about midterms. Megan was just too cute when she blushed.
"Hey, you're taking advantage of my weakness," she sulked, trying to sound stern. "You're lucky. I like you."
I stopped laughing and looked at her as she lowered her head, clearly trying to hide her flushed face.
"Sorry," I said, catching my breath. "I'll stop teasing you."
I took another sip of my latte and shifted the topic. "Don't you need to go back to the counter to serve?"
She looked up and shook her head. "It's my fifteen-minute break," she chirped, "You can have me all to yourself for that time."
"Well, maybe I can use your help for this one," I said, glancing down at my scattered notes and searching for the printed topic for my oral exam.
One of our strict professors had insisted on an oral exam instead of a written one. He claimed written tests were too easy. After all, we were law students who needed to think and argue as if we were already in a real courtroom. That was why he demanded an oral debate on a specific topic.
"What is it?" Her eyes shone like a child waiting for a surprise.
I found the printed copy and handed it to her with a small smile. I watched as her excitement slowly faded into confusion.
"Argue with me on this topic."
"Why? I don't know anything about your homework," she replied, frowning.
"It's not homework," I sighed. "It's for my oral exam. And you always have a way of arguing your point. Maybe you can use that to help me."
Her brows rose in disbelief, and then she smirked. "You like people who argue back?"
I gave a halfhearted nod, which made her smirk widen. She was too easy, especially when it came to things she knew I liked. I took the paper back from her.
"So the topic is this,"reading on the paper. "Should an accused who claims innocence still be presumed innocent despite overwhelming circumstantial evidence pointing to guilt?"
I looked up to make sure she was following. She seemed genuinely immersed, thinking carefully.
"You'll take the negative, arguing that the presumption of innocence must prevail. I'll take the affirmative, arguing that strong evidence outweighs a mere claim of innocence."
"Who goes first?" tilting her head on the side.
"I will, to give you time to formulate your rebuttal."
She nodded in agreement.
"The law exists to protect society and ensure justice," I began. "When multiple pieces of circumstantial evidence consistently point to guilt, claiming innocence is not enough to override reality. Courts rely on evidence to reach conclusions, and ignoring strong evidence risks allowing real wrongdoing to go unchecked."
I glanced at her, expecting silence. Instead, after a brief pause, she spoke.
"But the presumption of innocence is the cornerstone of our legal system," she said. "Evidence can be misleading, fabricated, or misinterpreted. Even circumstantial evidence must be scrutinized. Without upholding this principle, we risk convicting the innocent and eroding public trust in justice."
I was genuinely impressed. She had rebutted my argument so clearly and confidently that I faked a cough to hide my brief distraction. Seeing her serious instead of playful made her look different.
"I agree safeguards are important," I replied, "but reasonable doubt is not the same as ignoring facts. The law allows inference from patterns and corroborating evidence. When evidence overwhelmingly supports guilt, insisting solely on the presumption of innocence can endanger justice."
She shrugged, leaning back and crossing her arms. "And yet, without that presumption, every accusation becomes a potential conviction. The accused deserves the benefit of the doubt, no matter how convincing the evidence seems."
I smiled. "Now I wonder why you didn't take law."
She laughed, her dimple showing. "I don't want to be your enemy."
"Good decision." My lips curved into a soft smile as I watched her innocent face read through my notes. It was a good decision that day to familiarize myself with every little detail of her features.
I REMEMBERED how her dimples appeared whenever she laughed and how her eyes twinkled as she watched me study that day, in a place filled with the bittersweet scent of coffee. It was a memory I had carried for eight years, one that resurfaced as I stood inside the courtroom.
Back then, we were only practicing arguments for an exam. Now, I was here to defend a man already convicted, fighting for him to walk free from the crime he was accused of.
Hours passed as the trial dragged on. Evidence was exchanged, and arguments were sharpened and laid bare before the court. At last, the judge lifted his eyes from the stack of case files, and the answer we had all been waiting for was ready to be announced.
Beside me stood my client, Mr. Carson, the man I represented, once convicted of multiple counts of murder.
The judge adjusted his glasses and straightened the papers before him.
"After careful consideration of the evidence presented, the testimonies of the witnesses, and the arguments of both the prosecution and the defense," he said, "this court finds that the prosecution has failed to establish guilt beyond reasonable doubt."
A hush fell over the courtroom. I knew this verdict would have different effects. For many, it would bring disappointment. For others, anger. Much of it would be directed at me. But it was my job to reveal the truth, not to satisfy public opinion.
"Therefore," the judge continued, "with respect to all charges brought before this court, the accused, Mr. William Carson, is hereby found not guilty."
For a brief moment, I felt his breath hitch beside me. His hands trembled as he clasped them together, relief washing over his face. I remained composed, even as something heavy finally loosened in my chest.
This was no longer a mock debate between two students in a café. This was reality, and today, I had won, even as a heavy feeling settled deep in my chest when I remembered Megan.
Would she still have those twinkles of adoration in her eyes if she were watching me now, defending criminals?