Chapter 1: A Windy Disruption

The wind whips my umbrella away, leaving me exposed to the elements.

"Let it go!" I shout in frustration.

As the flimsy fabric flutters away, I hear the unmistakable sound of its metal frame crumpling. Eventually, I abandon the chase as it tumbles into a nearby puddle, feeling too annoyed to continue. Maybe I should invest in a sturdier one.

"How did it go?" my friend asks casually.

"Could you not?" I reply, noticing how easily words slip out amidst the downpour.

Rain lashes against me, adding to my irritation as the scent of wet garbage and speeding cars fills the air—just another delightful aspect of city living.

"Shall we duck into that coffee shop?" he suggests, sheltered under his high-tech umbrella.

Getting it open requires a bit of finesse, a skill I lack. If only my own umbrella had a manual override.

"Could you repeat that? I can’t hear you with all this noise!" I spread my arms dramatically, attempting to embody a martyr.

Even so, it’s a better fate than being stuck in class.

"Let’s go already," he urges, turning away as I follow.

The street is now a canvas of gray mist, the asphalt barely visible under the heavy rain.

As I step into the coffee shop, my shoes squelching on the wooden floor, I can’t help but sigh, "It’s a deluge out there."

"That’s quite the understatement," he retorts with a smirk.

"Please."

The barista seems to relish in my drenched condition, but I refuse to engage.

"Apologies for the mess; the wind caught us off guard," my friend explains as we take a seat.

"I see you managed to stay dry!" I exclaim, annoyed.

"It’s not even falling straight anymore," I mumble, still trying to shake off the rain.

The warmth of the café is a stark contrast to my damp attire. The space has an unusual neo-medieval vibe, with glass walls and wooden floors that give it an inviting yet surreal atmosphere.

Chapter 2: Conversations Over Coffee

As my friend hands me a cup of coffee, he says, "This is your kind of drink—sweet and milky."

"You could have waited for them to ask," I reply, taking a sip and instantly enjoying it.

"Couldn’t risk it. I didn’t want any interruptions." He slumps into his chair, donut in hand.

It’s his usual routine; he can’t seem to put down his snacks until he’s ready to munch on them.

"What’s bothering you?" he asks, taking a hearty bite.

"My umbrella was wrecked. I wasn’t expecting such erratic weather," I admit, feeling a wave of frustration.

"Just let it go; we don’t have class anyway. I might as well relax."

"And what could be more unsettling than discussing our lives?"

"Hey."

Does he always have to stare at me like that?

"You talk a lot, but what about you?" I counter.

"Thanks for the insight. Your turn."

"How about we discuss how you never talk to your parents?"

"Because I don’t want to. That’s all there is to say."

His self-assuredness about his family issues surprises me.

"Are you hungry? They have some great brunch options."

"Thanks, but I'm all set. Actually… I’ll take some fries with bacon and cheese."

"Seriously? At eleven in the morning?" he chuckles.

Ignoring him, I focus on the waitress, who approaches with a bright smile, her hair in a neat bun.

"Hey, I’m talking to you, the underachiever."

"Get over it," I retort, trying to maintain my composure.

"Why do you like her?" he laughs.

"Enough with the self-deprecating humor. Let’s talk about something real."

"You have the loudest mouth of anyone I know."

"Touché."

I take a deep breath, letting the coffee’s sweetness wash over me.

"Man, I’m not sure about this—my unreliable umbrella just flew away. My roommate graduated, and I’m stuck here for another year. I don’t feel angry, but there’s a nagging sense that I’m not doing enough, that I’m a disappointment. My parents are covering my rent for another year while I just float through. I feel lost." Tears threaten to spill as I voice my frustrations.

My friend sets down his donut, studying me intently.

"Oh no, how long has it been since we talked like this?"

I can’t seem to stop.

"Who would want a student needing a month off during exams? I feel pulled in every direction, and half my classes get canceled. We don’t have lives outside of lectures. What’s this degree even worth? Just a ticket to a job like this one, with my parents footing the bill."

"Hey, don’t be so quick to judge. It might be worth something."

"You know what I mean. I haven’t even lived like a typical college student. I’m generous with my relationships, but I’ve yet to share this space with anyone. Everyone’s just waiting for breaks to catch up with friends. I’m trying, but failing grades haunt me. Why am I even here? Maybe I should just go work on a farm or something."

The bubbling in my chest intensifies.

I want to scream but can’t. I can’t falter; I have to maintain the facade for my parents.

But what are we, really? Twenty-somethings who haven’t lived at all?

I finish my coffee, panting, the sweetness contrasting sharply with my emotional turmoil.

Is that why I crave sweet coffee? I can’t dwell on it without tearing up.

Even with all the reading, I struggle to articulate my feelings.

I can’t open up about my depression, the very thing that keeps me from seeking help.

When our efforts feel inadequate, what’s the point?

His silence offers solace, a reminder that we’re in this together, even without solutions.

But we’re still unsure about what reality holds for us.

I glance around, trying to avoid looking at my friend’s expression, perhaps because I want to hide my own.

A fellow patron, around our age, is engrossed in his studies, papers scattered around him.

He appears so organized. Maybe I could just ask him about his subject. I could use the company for my own studies, connect with someone beyond my friend.

"This is for you," the waitress says, handing over a box of fries.

"Thanks," I reply, trying to sound cool under pressure. "Shall we head out?"

"Sure," he says, tossing some change on the table.

"Isn’t that a bit much for coffee and a donut?"

"Not if you count your fries. I already covered my share."

"You always do this."

"You owe me next time."

As we rise and head outside, I glance back at the studious guy. He meets my gaze, and for a moment, I think about reaching out. But I hesitate, trapped in my chaotic thoughts.

"I didn’t realize it was still raining," I say, stepping into the downpour.

"It’s better than before," he remarks playfully.

"Stop talking," I chuckle, stepping into the rain with a smile.

Sometimes, it feels good to let everything out, even if it’s just talking.

"Thanks for everything."

"Anytime," he replies, teasingly holding the umbrella just out of reach.

A true friend indeed.