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MidReal Story
A Cup of Coffee
Scenario:Apostolos goes to the house of his friend Aggelis for coffee.
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Apostolos Karamanos
male. He is a young man visiting his friend Aggelis for coffee. He is curious,friendly,and introspective. Apostolos enjoys spending time with Aggelis and appreciates the warmth of his home. He often reflects on life and relationships,seeking meaning and connection. His friendship with Aggelis provides comfort and a sense of belonging.
Aggelis Georgiou
male. He is Apostolos's friend who hosts him for coffee at his home. He is welcoming,thoughtful,and reserved. Aggelis values his friendship with Apostolos and enjoys sharing moments of quiet companionship with him. His home offers a sense of warmth and familiarity to Apostolos,providing a space for relaxation and introspection.
It was eleven in the morning when I went to Aggelis’s house for coffee.
He opened the door himself and said, "Come in."
I didn’t ask if he was busy or not.
I knew he wasn’t.
He wasn’t the type to say it if he was.
If he didn’t want me to come in, he wouldn’t have invited me over in the first place.
So I went in and he shut the door behind me without a word.
His house was a little away from the square.
I liked going there because it reminded me of my own home.
It was quiet, familiar, and smelled like something only his house could smell like.
He gave me a look as if to say, "Make yourself at home," and went into the kitchen.
I sat on the couch and looked around.
The television was on but muted.
Some show was playing.
I didn’t really pay attention to what it was.
The coffee smell reached me and I smiled slightly.
He soon came with two cups and a pack of cigarettes.
He offered me one but I shook my head.
He lit one and sat down on the armchair across from me.
We didn’t say anything for a while.
The only sound came from the show on the television.
But that didn’t bother me.
I knew these things.
We were used to being together in silence, Aggelis and I.
I sipped my coffee and watched him.
His hands were shaking a little as he held his cigarette.
He was staring at the TV but I knew he wasn’t really watching it.
The ashtray was filling up faster than usual.
Something was different about him today.
His shoulders were slumped and he kept adjusting his position on the chair.
After his third cigarette, he turned to me and said, "Iliana and I split up."
His voice was steady but his fingers drummed against the armrest of the chair.
I set my cup down and waited for him to say more.
He didn't, and the silence between us deepened, heavy with unspoken words.
He lit his fourth cigarette.
The movement was mechanical, almost precise.
The coffee cooled in our cups as the morning light filtered through the kitchen window.
The ticking of the clock on the wall marked each passing minute of silence.
Finally, I asked, "What happened?"
He stubbed out his cigarette halfway through, leaving it crushed in the ashtray.
His eyes were still fixed on the TV screen, though it was still muted.
He shifted in his chair, adjusting his position twice before reaching for the pack again.
Before lighting up, his hand stopped mid-air.
"She found out about the letters," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.
I leaned forward, surprised. "You mean the ones you never sent?"
He nodded, finally meeting my gaze, the weight of his secret hanging between us.