It started as an ordinary Tuesday morning. Sun shining, birds chirping, my coffee still too hot to drink, the usual quiet café energy.
And then she walked in.
Effortlessly put together in a way that suggested she had her life sorted out before sunrise, she slid into the seat across from me at the little café on the corner. A few minutes later, the server approached her table.
I wasn’t eavesdropping. I was simply… strategically close enough to observe. She lifted one finger, tracing a slow circle on the menu as if pointing out something very specific. There was a tiny sparkle in her eyes, the kind people get when they know something you don’t.
Then she said it.
Calm, confident, clear as daylight.
“I’ll have one of the Vergin long serves, please.”
At.
Nine.
A.
M.
I nearly inhaled my croissant.
I had questions, very dramatic ones. Was she unbothered by judgement? Celebrating something? Trying to start a new lifestyle movement? Did she skip straight past breakfast norms and land in a different dimension?
The server seemed completely unfazed, as if beautifully garnished, alcoholic, tonic-topped drinks before breakfast were standard operating procedure. Meanwhile, I was running full internal diagnostics, quietly reviewing the social contract of morning beverages.
When the drink arrived, the sparkle threw me off. It looked like the kind of tall, tonic-based botanical highball that usually raises eyebrows before noon; ice clinking, citrus shining, bubbles doing the absolute most. Yet there was something almost playful about it, as if the drink itself was daring me to question it.
She took a sip, completely unbothered, then went back to reading her book.
Meanwhile, my curiosity was performing high-intensity interval training. So when the server finally reached my table, I gave in to impulse.
“Hi, um, could I maybe have whatever she’s having?”
I could feel my ancestors watching with raised eyebrows. But I was committed.
The server smiled, the warm and knowing kind of smile that tells you a lesson is incoming.
“We’ve been serving Vergin botanical long serves all morning,” she said. “Zero alcohol.”
Suddenly, everything clicked.
Of course, she was radiant. Of course, she had composed breakfast energy. Of course, she wasn’t about to derail her entire Tuesday for the aesthetic of a crisp, grown-up drink before 10.
She was simply drinking the one thing that lets you live out your main character energy at breakfast without adding alcohol to the story:
Vergin.
My drink arrived. Bubbles dancing. Citrus shining. Aromas so botanical they made me sit up straighter. One sip and I understood her. Completely. Because now I, too, had become the kind of person who orders a tall, tonic-based Vergin pour at 9 AM and does it proudly.
The kind of person who knows flavour doesn’t ask for permission.
The kind of person who chooses joy over judgement.
The kind of person who makes hydration feel like a cheeky little rebellion.
So here’s to her, the mystery Breakfast Vergin Woman. The muse I never asked for but fully needed. And to anyone side-eyeing a sparkling glass across a morning café, take a breath and sip.
It’s Vergin.