As I took slow sips of my cappuccino, the creamy foam touching my lips, my thoughts drifted far from the café — back to my high school days.
Those were simpler times, filled with laughter, teasing, and endless dreams. I could still picture my three best friends — William, Tommy (though his real name was Thomas), and Ramsey — and the countless hours we spent joking about each other as if life had no worries at all.
William, at fourteen, was the most serious among us. He dreamed of becoming a doctor and often carried a small notepad to jot down things he found "medically interesting." He had light brown hair that never seemed to stay in place, sharp gray eyes behind thin glasses, and a calm, almost mature expression that made him look older than he really was.
Tommy, also fourteen, wanted to be a mechanical engineer — just like his father, who worked at a car company on some project involving automated vehicles. Tommy was proud of that. His eyes always lit up when he spoke about engines or machines. He had jet-black hair that curled slightly at the ends, a broad nose, and a grin that could disarm anyone.
Then there was Ramsey — the jolliest of us all. His father owned a local taxi service named Ramsey, after his son. That fact alone told you how much his father adored him. Ramsey was a bit on the healthier side — okay, maybe slightly overweight — and that became our favorite topic for jokes. But he never took it to heart; he'd laugh louder than anyone else. His round face, small bright eyes, and messy blond hair made him look like someone straight out of a cartoon.
And then there was me — James, born into a middle-class family. My father, Jonathan, worked a corporate job and often spoke as if he'd seen the whole world. His endless lectures sometimes frustrated me, yet in my lowest moments, his words were the ones that lifted me.
I could still hear his voice clearly:
> "A butterfly, when still a larva, struggles to become what it's meant to be. Everything in life fights to survive. Struggle isn't just pain — it's proof you're alive. Without struggle, humans wouldn't have reached where they are. Struggle is life; life is struggle. Make it part of your routine, and you'll find meaning in it."
He'd say that whenever I failed or felt lost. And now, sitting in that café, those same words echoed in my mind — more real than ever.
Time moved on, and so did we. Sometimes, when life slows down — like now, with a warm cappuccino in hand — I can't help but wonder how those three are doing.
Tommy, my engineer friend who swore he'd build cars that could fly, didn't end up becoming a mechanical engineer after all. Instead, he took a surprising turn — he learned Data Science.
We still talk occasionally — a few online chats, sometimes a quick call when we both happen to be free. Those conversations are short but warm, often ending with us laughing about the old days. But meeting in person? That feels like a luxury now — something that belongs to a less hectic time.
William, on the other hand, stayed true to his dream. He did his MBBS, then went on to complete his MS. Now he works across multiple hospitals — the same calm, focused person he always was. And yet, as proud as I am of him, a small part of me sometimes feels jealous. Maybe not jealous of his success, but of his unwavering clarity — he always knew what he wanted, and he went straight for it.
And then there's Ramsey. We haven't talked in years. I heard from someone that he went abroad to study Business — a surprise, considering he never mentioned being interested in it. Maybe life pushed him in that direction. Or maybe, like many of us, he just went where opportunities led.
I smiled to myself, stirring my coffee. We were four kids full of dreams, and now, we're four adults scattered in different corners of the world — all still chasing something.
Funny how life works.
I took one last sip of my cappuccino, letting the warmth linger. The café's soft chatter faded into the background as I looked out the window.
For a moment, I wished we could all meet again — like the old days — laughing, arguing, dreaming.
But then again, maybe that's what memories are for: to remind us where we came from, and how far we've come.
An hour had already passed without me realizing it. I was lost in thoughts, half-drunk cappuccino sitting beside me, when a voice suddenly broke through the hum of the café.
"Hey, you there!"
It was a girl's voice — soft, clear, and slightly playful.
I looked up, a little startled, and recognized her immediately. She was the same girl I'd seen earlier — the one with blond hair and a blue dress who had come to the interview with her friend.
For a moment, I just blinked in surprise.
I hadn't expected to see her again — not so soon, at least.
It had barely been an hour and a half since the interview ended.
Then again, maybe it wasn't that surprising. I mean, this café was pretty popular.
Still… what were the odds?
The girl standing in front of me wasn't alone. Her friend, the one who hadn't come for the interview but had accompanied her, was also there — also in a blue dress.
Both girls were wearing the same color, which caught my attention. And yet, it wasn't just the dress — their emotions seemed to match, too. The friend, with her usual blond hair, looked nervous and hesitant, while the girl who had come just to cheer her up radiated encouragement, smiling and nudging her forward.
I tilted my head slightly. Maybe it was coincidence, or maybe it was one of those unspoken things people do — mirror each other without thinking. I had noticed it before, in small ways, many times. Sometimes friends, even strangers, end up reflecting each other, like echoes in motion.
It was a small detail, but it made the scene feel… alive.
And now, standing here, seeing them together again in this popular café, I couldn't help but smile.