Hey, imagine its a lateevening at that little corner café on High Street. The walls are painted a warm ochre, and rain is lazily tracing lines down the windows. Three coats hang on hooks by the door a light one, a grey one and a third with a stripe on the lining. Inside its dry and cosy, the air filled with the scent of fresh scones and tea. The waitress glides between tables almost silently. At the window table three mates are settled: Ian, Sam and Andy.
Ian got there first he hates being late. He slips off his coat, folds his scarf neatly and immediately pulls out his phone to scan a few work emails, trying not to think about tomorrows planning meeting. His hands are still a bit chilly from outside, while the room is warm and the glass fogs up from the temperature clash. Ian orders a pot of green tea for everyone thats pretty much the ritual that kicks off every catchup.
Sam slips in almost unheard: tall, a touch hunched, eyes a shade tired but his smile alive. He hangs his jacket on the next hook, slides into the seat opposite Ian and gives a quick nod.
Hey, you alright? he asks.
Yeah, just taking it easy, Ian replies, keeping his tone even.
Sam orders a coffee for himself he always has it in the evenings, even though he knows itll keep him up later.
Andy is the last to arrive, a little breathless after a brisk walk from the tube. His hair is damp under the hood. He flashes a big grin at his friends, like everythings fine, but his eyes linger over the menu longer than usual; instead of his usual slice of cake he just picks water.
Theyve been meeting here once a month for thirty years, ever since they were all undergrad physics students. Lifes taken them in different directions: Ian now runs a department at an IT firm, Sam teaches at a college and does some tutoring on the side, and Andy ran a small techrepair business up until recently.
The evening falls into its familiar rhythm they chat about work trips, the kids (Sams got two boys), the latest bingewatch series, the funny mishaps at the office or at home. Andy listens more than he talks, jokes sparingly; he keeps staring out at the rainslicked street, and the others exchange glances.
Ian is the first to spot the shift: Andy doesnt laugh at the old uni anecdotes. When the talk drifts to new smartphones or a getaway abroad, Andy changes the subject or forces a halfhearted smile.
Sam notices too: when the waitress slides the bill over with Split it or together? Andy fumbles with his phone and says the apps acting up, offering to pay his share later. Usually hed just settle the tab straight away, even foot the whole thing.
At one point Sam tries to lighten the mood with a jab:
Whats got you so serious? Taxes got you down again?
Andy shrugs:
Just a lot on my plate.
Ian jumps in:
Maybe you should switch track? You could pick up something online, do a course or two
Andy forces a smile:
Thanks for the tip
Theres an awkward pause, none of them know how to keep the conversation moving.
The lights dim as the café darkens, the street outside disappearing behind the misted glass, only the occasional silhouette of a passerby lit by the streetlamp across the road.
They try to steer back to easy chat sports news (Ian finds it boring), a new law debate (Andy stays mostly quiet). The tension keeps building.
Soon Sam cant hold back:
Andy if you need cash, just say it. Were your mates.
Andy looks up sharply:
You think its that simple? You think just asking makes it easier?
His voice trembles; its the first time hes spoken up that night.
Ian steps in:
We just want to help, mate. Whats the problem?
Andy snaps:
Help with advice? Or so you can remember a debt forever? You dont get it!
He leaps from his seat, the chair screeching across the floor. The waitress watches from the bar, eyes a little wide.
For a few seconds nothing moves; the air feels heavy, as if the teas cooling faster. Andy grabs his coat from the hook and storms out, slamming the door louder than needed.
Ian and Sam are left at the table, each feeling a sting of guilt but too shy to be the first to speak.
The doors bang lets a brief gust cool the window seat. Sam gazes at the foggy glass where a streetlamp flickers, while Ian absentmindedly stirs his tea, not daring to be the one to break the silence. The tension still hangs, but now it feels almost necessary, like a rope that keeps the whole thing from unraveling.
Sam finally speaks:
Maybe I overreacted Im not sure what the right thing is. He sighs, looking at Ian. What would you have said?
Ian shrugs, his voice steadier than usual:
If I knew how to fix it, Id have already done it. Were all grownups sometimes its easier to step back than to say the wrong thing.
They fall quiet. The waitress at the counter slices a fresh cake, and the smell of baked goods drifts back into the room. Outside, Andys silhouette appears under the awning, hood pulled up, scrolling his phone slowly. Ian gets up.
Ill go get him. Dont want him walking off like that.
He steps into the little vestibule where the cool night air mixes with the lingering street damp. Andy stands with his back to the door, shoulders slumped.
Andy Ian pauses beside him, not touching. Sorry if we overdid it. Were just worried.
Andy turns slowly:
I get it. But you dont spill everything either, do you? I just wanted to sort it myself. It didnt work, and now Im left feeling embarrassed and angry.
Ian thinks it over, then after a beat says:
Lets head back inside. No ones forcing you. Talk or stay quiet whatever you need. Just promise this: if you need a hand with something, tell us straight away, and about money I could help with something specific, but I dont want awkward debts between us.
Andy looks at him, relief and fatigue mixing:
Thanks. Id just like to be here with you, no pity, no extra questions.
They walk back together. Their table already has a warm slice of cake and a small bowl of jam. Sam manages an awkward grin:
Got the cake for everyone. Figured I could do something useful tonight.
Andy sits down, quietly thanks them. For a while they eat in silence, sugar being stirred into tea, crumbs gathering on napkins. Gradually the chat eases they move from problems to weekend plans, new books for Sams kids.
Later Sam leans in:
If you ever need a work tip or want to bounce ideas, Im happy to help. As for cash you decide when youre ready to talk about it.
Andy nods gratefully:
Lets keep things as they are for now. I dont want to feel like I owe anyone.
The pause no longer feels oppressive; its as if theyve each accepted an unspoken rule of fresh honesty. They agree to meet again next month, same spot, whatever news they bring.
When its time to leave, each pulls out a phone: Ian checks a reminder for tomorrows office meeting, Sam texts his wife a quick All good, Andy lingers on his screen a bit longer before slipping it back into his pocket without a fuss.
Only two coats remain on the rack now Ians grey one and Sams light one. Andys coat is already back on after his quick return from the vestibule; they help each other with scarves and buttons, as if the simple gestures are bringing back the ease they once had.
Outside the drizzle thickens, the streetlamp reflecting in a puddle right by the cafés doorway. The three friends step out together under the awning; the cold wind rushes past their faces through the open door.
Sam goes first:
Next month, then? Give me a ring even if its midnight!
Ian claps Andy on the shoulder:
Weve got your back, even when we act like daft kids.
Andy manages a shy smile:
Thanks, both of you really.
No grand promises are needed now; they each know the line between help and obligation, and the price of the nights words.
They part ways at the entrance: some head for the tube under the wet lamp light, others turn down the alley between the houses, walking home. The tradition endures now it just asks for a bit more honesty and care for each others pain, and thats what keeps it alive.
