☕ Friday Afternoon Coffee

 

☕ Friday Afternoon Coffee

Every Friday afternoon, the little café on the corner would fill with a soft golden light, as if the sun knew it had one last chance to shine before the weekend truly began.

At exactly 4:00 p.m., Adam would arrive. He always ordered the same thing: a black coffee and a slice of warm cinnamon cake. The barista, Layla, had memorized his quiet smile and his habit of choosing the corner table by the window.

This Friday, however, something was different. He didn’t seem himself. His gaze was heavy, his hands restless.

Layla brought him his coffee and whispered,

“Rough week?”

He looked up, surprised someone noticed. A faint smile tugged at his lips.

“You could say that,” he replied.

She set down the cup, the steam curling like tiny threads of comfort.

“Well… you made it. Friday afternoon coffee always tastes better than the rest of the week.”

Adam laughed softly, the sound more genuine than anything he’d felt all week. He lifted his cup, took a long sip, and felt the warmth seep back into him.

Outside, the sun dipped lower, but inside, the little café glowed — and so did he.

Adam sat back in his chair, feeling the weight of the week finally start to lift. He watched as Layla returned behind the counter, tying her dark hair into a loose bun as she served another customer. The hum of quiet conversation, the faint clink of cups, the aroma of roasted beans and cinnamon — it was as though this café existed outside of time.

His phone buzzed on the table, the screen flashing with an email notification. He turned it face-down without looking. Whatever it was, it could wait.

For once, he didn’t feel like rushing anywhere.

Layla glanced at him from across the room. Something about his presence — a mix of weariness and quiet hope — made her hesitate. Finally, she wiped her hands, grabbed her own small cup of coffee, and walked over to him.

“Mind if I join you for a minute?” she asked, her voice gentle but full of life.

Adam gestured to the empty chair across from him. “Please.”

She sat, curling her fingers around her cup. They both sat in a comfortable silence for a few moments. Then she said,

“You’re here every Friday. Same time, same table, same order. It’s like your little ritual.”

He chuckled softly. “I guess it is. There’s something about this place… it feels like a pause button.”

“Exactly,” she agreed. “That’s why I started working here. People don’t come here to rush. They come to… just be.”

Adam looked out the window, where the streets glowed in the fading sunlight. Then he turned back to her. “I didn’t even realize how much I needed that until today.”

Layla studied him, her eyes kind. “Bad week?”

“Bad year,” he admitted with a wry smile. “But this…” — he gestured to the coffee, the soft light, the quiet around them — ”…reminds me that it’s not all bad.”

They sipped their coffee, the silence now warm and easy.

After a while, Layla stood, smiling down at him. “Well… I’ll let you enjoy your Friday pause. But if you ever need to talk, or just sit here longer than usual, you know where to find me.”

Adam watched her walk away, and for the first time in a long while, he felt something shift — a small flicker of hope where the heaviness used to be.

He stayed until the last rays of sunlight disappeared behind the buildings, savoring every sip, every quiet second.

And when he finally stood to leave, he knew:

Next Friday, he’d be back.

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