The evening was late, and the little café on the corner of the high street glowed softly. Warm ochre painted the walls, and rain dripped lazily down the windows. Three coats hung on the hooks by the doora light one, a grey one, and a third with a stripe on the lining. Inside it was dry and warm, the scent of fresh scones and tea filling the air. The waitress moved between tables almost silently. At the window table sat three men: Ian, Sam and Andy.
Ian was the first to arrivehe never liked being late. He slipped off his coat, folded his scarf neatly, and immediately pulled out his phone to scan work emails, trying not to think about tomorrows planning meeting. His hands were still cool from the street, while the room was warm and the glass fogged from the temperature clash. Ian ordered a pot of green tea for all of themalmost every meeting began this way.
Sam entered almost without a sound: tall, a little stooped, eyes tired but a lively smile. He hung his jacket on the neighboring hook, sat opposite Ian and gave a brief nod.
How are you? he asked.
Slowly, but fine, Ian replied calmly.
Sam ordered a coffee for himselfhe always drank it in the evenings, even though he knew it would keep him up.
Andy was the last to come, a little out of breath after a quick walk from the underground. His hair was damp from the drizzle beneath his hood. He grinned at his friends so widely it seemed everything was alright, but his eyes lingered on the menu longer than usual; instead of his favourite slice of cake he chose only water.
They met here once a monthsometimes missing a month because of work or sick children (Sam has two sons). The tradition had started thirty years ago when they were all studying physics together. Now each lived a different life: Ian was a manager in an IT firm, Sam taught at a college and tutored on the side, and Andy had only recently closed his small techrepair business.
The evening started in the usual way: they swapped newswho had travelled for work, how the children were doing at school, what books or series they were watching, and the odd funny incident at home or the office. Andy listened more than he spoke, joked less; occasionally he stared out at the rainslicked street, and the others exchanged glances.
Ian was the first to notice something had changed. Andy no longer laughed at the old university stories; when the conversation drifted to new phones or holidays abroad, he steered the talk elsewhere or gave a strained smile.
Sam saw it too. When the bill arrived, the waitress placed it on the table and asked, Split or together? Andy fumbled with his phone, then said hed pay later because the app was glitching. Usually he paid straight away, often even covering the whole bill.
At one point Sam tried to break the tension with a joke.
Why so serious? Taxes getting you down again?
Andy shrugged. Just a lot on my plate.
Ian added, Maybe you could change direction? You could work onlinetake a course or something
Andy forced a thin smile. Thanks for the suggestion
A pause stretched; no one knew how to continue.
The café grew darker quickly: the lights sharpened, the street disappeared behind the fogged glass, and only occasional silhouettes of pedestrians lingered by the streetlamp opposite.
The friends tried to bring back the lightness of conversationsports news (Ian found it dull), a debate about a new law (Andy barely joined). The tension between them thickened.
Soon Sam could wait no longer.
Andy if you need money, just tell us! Were your mates.
Andy looked up sharply.
Do you think its that simple? You think asking makes it easier?
His voice trembled; it was the first time he had spoken up that evening.
Ian intervened. We just want to help! Whats the problem?
Andy glared at them. Help with advice? Or so we remember the debt forever? You dont get it!
He sprang from his seat, the chair screeching across the floor. The waitress watched from behind the bar, wary.
For a few moments nothing moved; the air felt heavy, and the tea seemed to cool faster. Andy grabbed his coat from the hook and stormed out, slamming the door harder than necessary.
Two remained, each feeling guilty but unwilling to be the first to speak.
The door shut, and a brief draft cooled the window table. Sam stared at the fogged glass, where the streetlamp reflected, while Ian absentmindedly stirred his spoon, hesitant to break the silence. The tension lingered, now almost necessaryas if without it nothing could be clarified.
Sam finally broke the silence.
Maybe I overreacted Im not sure what to do. He sighed, looking at Ian. What would you say?
Ian shrugged, his voice unusually firm. If I knew how to help, Id have already done it. Were all adults but sometimes its easier to step back than say the wrong thing.
They fell silent. The waitress sliced a fresh cake, and the aroma of baked goods filled the room again. Outside, Andys silhouette appeared under the awning, hood pulled up, scrolling his phone. Determined, Ian rose.
Ill go get him. I dont want him to leave like that.
He stepped into the vestibule, where cool air mixed with the lingering dampness of the street. Andy stood with his back to the door, shoulders slumped.
Andy Ian stopped beside him, not touching. Sorry if we overstepped. We just worry.
Andy turned slowly. I understand. But you dont lay everything out either, do you? I just wanted to handle it myself. It didnt worknow Im embarrassed and angry.
Ian thought over the words, then after a pause said, Lets go back to the table. No one is forcing you. We can talk or stay quietyour call. Just promise: if you need a hand with a problem, speak up, and about money I could help concretely, but I dont want awkward debts between us.
Andy looked relieved, tired. Thanks. I just want to be here with you, no pity, no extra questions.
They returned together. Their table already held a warm slice of cake and a small bowl of jam. Sam smiled awkwardly. I grabbed the cake for everyone. Figured I could do something useful today.
Andy sat down and thanked them quietly. For a while they ate in silence; someone stirred sugar into tea, crumbs gathered near the napkins. Gradually the conversation softenedplans for the weekend, new books for Sams children, rather than problems.
Later Sam asked gently, If you ever need to talk about work or look at options, Im happy to help with advice or contacts. As for money decide when youre ready.
Andy nodded gratefully. Lets keep things as they are for now. I dont want to feel indebted or like an outsider.
The pause no longer weighed heavy; an unspoken rule of honesty seemed to settle between them. They agreed to meet again next month at the same spot, whatever news each would bring.
When it was time to leave, each pulled out a phone: Ian checked a message about tomorrows office meeting, Sam replied to his wife with a short all good, Andy lingered a moment on his screen, then slipped it into his pocket without fanfare.
Only two coats remained on the rackIans grey and Sams light. Andy had put his coat back on after returning from the vestibule; now they dressed slowly, helping each other find a scarf or button a cuff, as if restoring the ease of their friendship through simple gestures.
Outside the drizzle thickened; a streetlamp reflected in a puddle by the café doorway. The friends stepped out together under the awning; cold air rushed past their faces from the open door.
Sam led the way. Next month, then? Call me any time, even at night!
Ian patted Andy on the shoulder. Weve got your back, even when we act a bit daft.
Andy smiled, a little embarrassed. Thanks, both of you truly.
No grand promises were needed; each knew the limits of involvement and the value of that nights words.
They went their separate ways from the entrance: some hurried to the underground through the wet glow of lanterns, others turned into a courtyard between houses, walking closer to home. The tradition endurednow it demanded greater honesty and sensitivity to each others pain, and that honesty kept it alive.
