Rain slicked the cobblestone street outside the neighborhood café. Its warm yellow windows glowed against the gray afternoon. Bozi pulled his jacket tighter and looked through the glass, spotting the familiar corner table.
Bozi pushed open the café door, a bell jingling above him. He spotted his friend at the corner table — arms crossed, jaw set. 'How dare you ignore me all day?' the friend demanded, voice sharp as the espresso machine hissed behind the counter.
Bozi's cheeks flushed hot. He slid into the seat across from his friend and reached for his empty cup, buying himself seconds to think. His friend just shook his head and turned away, staring out at the rain-lashed street.
'My phone died yesterday,' Bozi said, the words tumbling out. 'I couldn't even see your messages. I didn't mean — I never meant to —' He swallowed hard. He had to fix this. He had to make his friend understand.
Then it came to him — something small, something only they would know. 'I know your license plate number,' Bozi blurted. 'BZK 4721. From that rainy Tuesday in October.' He braced himself for another glare.
His friend's eyes went wide. Then, impossibly, they crinkled at the corners. A laugh bubbled out of him — loud and sudden and real. He covered his mouth with one hand, shoulders shaking, trying and failing to hold it in.
'I forgot I told you that,' he managed between laughs. 'I thought you didn't listen to anything I say.' Bozi grinned, the tension melting out of his shoulders. He reached across the table and nudged his friend's elbow.
The barista approached with two steaming mugs. 'On the house,' she said with a small smile, setting them down. They clinked cups together — a soft, ringing sound that cut through the café's hum.
Outside, the rain kept falling, tapping against the window in a steady rhythm. Inside, the two friends settled into silence — not the heavy kind from before, but the easy kind. The kind that means everything is alright.
Bozi took a slow sip of his coffee and watched the droplets slide down the windowpane. Each one caught the amber light from inside, briefly glowing before disappearing. He thought about all the rainy Tuesdays they'd had — and all the ones still to come.
His friend leaned back in his chair and exhaled, the last of the anger finally gone. He bumped his shoulder against Bozi's. 'Next time,' he said, 'just tell me your phone died. I get it.' Bozi nodded, a smile tugging at his lips.
The rain tapped against the window like applause. Inside the warm café, two friends sat in comfortable silence — the kind that doesn't need words. Bozi knew, with quiet certainty, that this was exactly how it should be.
