Long time ago, two college graduates with youthful thinking and energy, sitting together, talked about the future.
The boy: When I get succeed in my career, I would open a coffee shop or teahouse. It's not for money. I just want to have a place where friends could hang around.
The girl: It doesn't need to take so long. I can make your wish come true. You know what, I'll open a coffee shop close to our college. But I don't have much money, so I'm afraid it would be very small.
The boy (sparkles in his eyes): You're kidding! Are you sure?
The girl smiled: Definitely. Since I'm Jane, it must be Janehouse. Once you come back from Australian, you'll find me there.

     Janehouse was very small; it's tiny at a replica of a fishing boat, decorated in a delicate, simple style. The most luxury thing was probably the coffee mill and coffeepot on the counter, which was not for sale in China at that time so my friend brought it for me abroad. I was thought as crazy for taking so much troubles for this. A sensible businessman would not sell brewed coffee at instant coffee price. After all only a few could tell the difference between them. But I am never a good businessman. I did this because I really loved its smell. When I made " Grandma's coffee" by myself, sweet scent would fill Janehouse. It gave this place a touch of warmth and mildness. Then I would sit behind the counter, watching quietly over the people came here to enjoy of a short break. A surge of satisfaction would creep over me.

    Years passed by; day after day I stayed in Janehouse. This place for me was like a cozy shell for a snail. It provided kind of cushion against the reality outside, giving me a place where I could live somewhere between the past and the present. But it could not last forever. When SARS outbreak, Janehouse had to be closed for a week. I spend a whole day do the cleaning work. I washed the floor, I rubbed the tables and chairs, and I wiped all the cups, bottles until they shined proudly. Then I had nothing to do but staring at the empty place. I felt chilly and torn, realized something thing important was over. Soon I landed myself on a job as expected. I asked a girl to take care of Janehouse for me. I told myself when things got better, one day I would come back to Janehouse. But at the bottom of my heart, I knew this day probably would never come. With the heavy demands of my new job and new friends, I seldom had time for Janehouse.

    That day when I came to Janehouse, and I found without my caring, she was dying. The lampshade, which was a gift from an art student, was covered with dust. The once beautiful picture on it was only a dim figure left. The coffee set was broken. I could not make "Grandma's coffee" with it any more. And I knew it's over. I spend the last day with Janehouse. I picked up things, but those memories, those happy, sorrow, peaceful, memories were left here for good. This place would be turned into a fashion shop. No body would remember it was once a coffee shop loaded with joys and sorrows. But I will. Funny, I could hardly remember the boy's face who once told me his dream was to open a coffee shop, but I remember quite clearly that unknown girl's face. She used to come here alone around 7 o'clock, ordered a cup of coffee then seated quietly by the And that cheerful boy whom came from American, he helped me decorate a Christmas tree. He said this place reminded him of his home far away. So that Christmas, we had a real America style Christmas tree here. These things seemed so vivid as if they just happened yesterday. With memories flash back, tears swelled up my eyes.

Good-bye, Janehouse. Good-bye, my love.