“A Cup of Coffee and the End of the World”

The morning the world ended, the café was still open.

No alarms, no explosions, no warnings. Just silence — heavy, absolute silence — pressing against the windows like a blanket of snow.

Mara stood behind the counter, hands wrapped around a chipped white mug. The espresso machine hissed softly, though she hadn’t touched it in hours. Outside, the street was frozen — not with ice, but with stillness. Cars that never moved. Birds hanging mid-flight. A crumpled newspaper fluttering forever in midair, caught between falling and landing.

And yet, somehow, Daniel still came in at exactly 8:15 a.m.

He always did.

He looked the same as yesterday — brown coat, camera around his neck, the same tired eyes that had watched too many sunrises through the café window.

“Morning,” he said, setting his gloves on the table like the world hadn’t stopped breathing.

Mara nodded. “Morning.”

He smiled faintly. “You look surprised to see me.”

“I thought…” she paused, unsure how to explain what she’d seen outside — or rather, what she hadn’t seen. “Everything’s stopped. No one’s moving. But you—”

He shrugged and sat down. “Maybe I just really needed coffee.”

She managed a laugh, though it cracked in the middle. “The end of the world, and you still want caffeine.”

“Routine keeps us sane,” he said, leaning back. “Besides, if time’s stopped, do we still get charged per minute?”

That earned another smile from her — small, but real.

The clock above the counter ticked once and then froze at 8:17.

Outside, the light never changed. Shadows stayed sharp, the morning sun locked mid-rise. The air itself felt thick, like wading through honey.

Mara poured two cups — one for him, one for herself. The smell of roasted beans cut through the stale air, warm and grounding.

They sat in silence for a while, sipping coffee that somehow stayed hot.

Daniel finally spoke. “Do you think it’s really over?”

Mara glanced out the window. “Maybe not over. Just… paused.”

“Like a photograph,” he said softly. “Perfect, but lifeless.”

She looked at his camera. “Still taking pictures?”

“Instinct,” he admitted. “Though nothing shows up now. Every photo comes out blank. Like the world’s forgotten how to be captured.”

Mara tilted her head. “Maybe that’s the point. Maybe we’re supposed to remember instead of recording.”

He studied her for a long time — the way her hair caught the golden light, the reflection of the still street in her eyes.

“I used to come here,” he said, “because it was quiet enough to think. But now it’s too quiet.”

She didn’t answer. Instead, she walked to the window and pressed her palm against the glass. It was cold, but not dead.

“What if,” she said slowly, “we’re the only ones left moving because we weren’t ready to stop?”

Daniel’s lips curved into a thoughtful smile. “Then I guess the universe gave us a second cup.”

Hours — or maybe seconds — passed. It was impossible to tell.

They talked about nothing and everything: favorite books, half-finished dreams, places they’d never visit now. Mara confessed she’d always wanted to see the Northern Lights. Daniel said he’d been saving for a ticket to Iceland. They laughed at the cruel timing of it all.

At some point, she asked, “Do you think this is punishment?”

He shook his head. “No. If anything, it feels like mercy. The world was running too fast. Maybe it needed to rest.”

She looked down at her coffee. “So what do we do while it sleeps?”

Daniel stood, walked to the window beside her. “We stay awake.”

When he reached for her hand, she didn’t pull away. The touch was warm — startlingly alive.

For the first time that morning, something outside moved.

The newspaper, caught mid-fall, fluttered once before freezing again. The smallest ripple in stillness — like the universe taking a breath.

Mara gasped. “Did you see that?”

He nodded. “Maybe time just needs a reason to start again.”

She looked up at him. “And what reason is that?”

Daniel smiled gently. “Hope.”

They stayed there, side by side, watching the unmoving city.

Hours later — or maybe just a blink — the clock behind them ticked. Once. Twice.

The sunlight shifted, spilling across their faces. Somewhere in the distance, a bird called — a sound so sharp and bright it made Mara cry.

She turned to Daniel, but his chair was empty.

The second cup of coffee sat untouched, steam curling upward before dissolving into the air.

Mara closed her eyes. The warmth on her skin felt like the world waking up.

Outside, the newspaper finally hit the ground.

And the café, once frozen in silence, filled with the heartbeat of time again.

~ The End ~