A few lines I happened to scribble upon the back of a café napkin seemed, by some quiet providence, rather too fitting to keep to myself. And so, here it is — unpolished, unedited, and offered just as it first came to me — for you all to read and, I hope, to enjoy.
FADE IN:
INT. SMALL FLAT – EARLY MORNING
Grey light creeps through half-drawn blinds. The city hums somewhere distant. A kettle sighs; the click of a switch punctuates the silence.
CAMERA:
Close on a chipped mug. Steam rises. The hand that lifts it trembles just enough to notice.
VOICEOVER (dry, thoughtful, male/female):
Just me and my coffee for company. The usual arrangement. Brown liquid, black thoughts. It’s a reliable partnership — it doesn’t talk back, doesn’t flinch, doesn’t ask how I’ve been sleeping. You can’t disappoint a cup of coffee.
CUT TO:
The narrator sits at the table, staring at nothing. City noise seeps through thin walls.
VOICEOVER (continues):
Out there, the world’s already spinning — meetings, traffic, people manufacturing urgency. And here I am, orbiting this mug, pretending the stillness means something profound.
CAMERA:
A flicker of sunlight hits the rim of the cup. Dust floats in the beam.
VOICEOVER (wry):
I tell myself I like the solitude. But that’s the sort of lie caffeine helps you believe. Truth is, it’s not solitude. It’s rehearsal for extinction — done politely, with milk and two sugars, or not.
CUT TO:
The narrator exhales. The steam mingles with breath. Somewhere, a phone buzzes — ignored.
VOICEOVER (softer, introspective):
Still, the coffee’s hot. The silence is civilised. And for ten blessed minutes, I can pretend that being alone is a choice.
SILENCE.
A faint sip. The sound of the spoon stirring.
VOICEOVER (final line, low, resigned):
Just me and my coffee. The last dependable relationship in town.
FADE OUT.
