It was after sunset, Friday of the second week of March, also known as hell week. I was in the café beside our school, sitting on the rear table on the left—our favorite spot. Though I hadn't been there for three Fridays then, it still felt safe and familiar and warm.
"We'll always have Friday, I promise," he used to say while we drank our coffee. I was there again, three weeks after the hushed breakup on that very same spot. I was reviewing my notes for my final exam half an hour away. I kind of felt shy for not ordering anything—I just needed a quiet place to study.
I was halfway done highlighting an entire sentence when the waiter put a clear plastic cup of coffee on my table.
"Enjoy your coffee, Ma'am."
"But I didn't ask for anything."
He smiled slightly then walked away. I looked at the coffee—it was the exactly the same as what we used to order. I turned the cup around, still wondering who it was from. There was a yellow sticky note that said, You missed three Fridays and three cups. Enjoy the fourth one! Don’t stress yourself too much. Take care always. Good luck. :)
I knew it. He kept his promise. We'll always have Friday.