The coffee's still hot

I woke up to the sound of my alarm blaring like it had something personal against me.

6:30 a.m. The sky outside was dull and gray, the kind of morning that feels like it never really woke up. I sat on the edge of the bed for a moment longer than I should’ve, rubbing the sleep from my eyes and pretending that five more minutes wouldn’t make me even later.

The usual routine followed: brush teeth, shower, dress, toast, coffee. I used to skip breakfast, but I read somewhere that people who eat in the morning are more optimistic. That felt like cheating the system. So now I have toast with a bit of peanut butter, even if I don’t really taste it.

By 7:30, I was on the bus, wedged between a man with headphones too loud and a woman scrolling through a feed of people who looked far too happy for a Tuesday. I didn’t mind it. There's something comforting about being anonymous in a crowd.

I got to the office at 8:03. Three minutes late. No one noticed, or if they did, they didn’t care enough to say anything. I work at an insurance company—claims department. My desk is in the middle of a maze of beige cubicles - overhead lights that flicker sometimes, the hum of old computers, the soft symphony of coughing, keyboard clicks, and someone’s distant ringtone playing a tune that used to be catchy but now feels like a threat.

“Morning, Eli,” said Sandra, the HR rep who always smiled too early in the day.

“Morning,” I replied, my voice still adjusting to being used.

I settled into my chair, which creaked just enough to remind me it hated me. My computer took a full three minutes to boot up, long enough for me to contemplate everything and nothing at once.

The first email was from a customer asking about a car accident claim. The second was a reminder that the new printer codes were going into effect next week. The third was from my supervisor, Lillian, asking if I could “take a look at a few extra files since you’re so efficient.”

I wasn’t efficient. I was just quiet. And when you’re quiet, people think you have time.

I opened the file - rear-ended sedan, minor injuries, paperwork half-filled. I sighed and reached for my coffee. It was lukewarm already.

The hours passed in that strange way they do when nothing interesting happens—fast and slow at the same time. I reviewed reports, answered calls, made notes. At one point, I got up to stretch and stared out the window in the break room. A pigeon was hopping along the windowsill, pausing occasionally like it was debating life choices.

Around noon, I microwaved leftover spaghetti in the staff kitchen. It tasted like sadness and tomato paste. Nobody else was around, which was fine by me. I’m not antisocial, I just don’t always have the energy to be a person.

That’s when Jordan walked in.

He’s the intern. Twenty-two, sharp smile, smells like mint gum and shampoo. The kind of guy who still believes meetings can be productive.

“Hey, Eli,” he said, grabbing a yogurt from the fridge. “Busy day?”

“Just average,” I replied.

He nodded. “Yeah. Tuesdays, right?”

We sat at the small table by the window, not talking much. Then out of nowhere, he said, “You ever feel like you’re just… filling space?”

I looked up from my spaghetti. That wasn’t a usual intern question.

“All the time,” I admitted.

He seemed surprised I answered.

“It’s weird,” he continued. “I thought this job would feel more... I don’t know. Important.”

“It is,” I said. “Just doesn’t always look like it.”

He thought about that for a second and nodded again, slower this time. Then he smiled and went back to his yogurt.

At 1:05, I returned to my desk. Lillian stopped by ten minutes later with a stack of folders.

“I owe you,” she said, setting them down like they didn’t weigh more than regret. “I really appreciate you picking up the slack.”

I smiled automatically. She left before I could say anything.

One of the new files was for a woman named Marla Tran. Her husband had passed away in a motorcycle accident last month. She was filing a life insurance claim. There was a note in the file: "Call client for missing documents. Be gentle."

I stared at her name on the screen for a long time before picking up the phone.

It rang twice.

“Hello?”

“Hi, may I speak with Mrs. Tran?”

“This is she.”

“Hi Mrs. Tran, this is Eli from Glendale Mutual. I’m calling about your recent claim…”

My voice softened as I explained what was missing. She was quiet for most of it. I could hear faint noise in the background—maybe a baby, or a TV on low volume.

When I finished, there was a pause.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I… I haven’t been able to get through the paperwork. It’s all still sitting on the table where he left it. His pen’s still uncapped.”

I didn’t know what to say. I never do in those moments.

“It’s okay,” I said finally. “There’s no rush. Just let us know when you’re ready. I’ll personally keep your file open.”

She let out a shaky breath. “Thank you. That means a lot.”

When we hung up, I sat there for a while, looking at the same spot on my desk.

The day dragged on after that. More claims. More emails. Someone in the office brought in donuts, but by the time I got there, all that was left was a half of a plain one and something that might’ve once had jelly.

At 4:45, I walked past Jordan’s desk on my way to the copier. He looked up and said, “Hey, Eli?”

“Yeah?”

“What you said earlier… about it being important even if it doesn’t look like it. That stuck with me.”

I didn’t know what to say to that, so I just gave him a small nod. Sometimes that’s enough.

At 5:00, I shut down my computer. The bus ride home was quiet. The woman from the morning was there again, still scrolling. The man was gone. A little girl in the front seat was telling her dad about a story she made up at school—something about a princess who ran away from home to become a pirate.

The sky had turned the color of old peach by the time I got off the bus.

At home, I changed into sweatpants and heated up some soup. I turned on the TV but left the volume low. The cat from the neighboring balcony stared at me through the window like it was checking in.

I ate dinner slowly. The soup was still warm by the time I finished.

Later, I checked my email one last time. There was one new message.

From: Marla Tran

Subject: Thank You

"I found the strength today to open his folder. I filled out the first form. Thank you for being kind."

That night, I brushed my teeth, folded some laundry, and sat at my desk to write a note in my journal. I don’t always write, but today felt like it needed remembering.

April 21

It was a Tuesday. Nothing special.

But I mattered to someone today.

And maybe that’s enough.

I closed the journal and sat in the quiet for a moment, listening to the gentle hum of the apartment.

The coffee cup from the morning was still on the table.

I picked it up.

It was cold now.

But earlier, it had been warm.