A half-eaten muffin and a flood of memories, simple moments that carry the weight of nostalgia. In the heart of Burlington, Canada, on a cold February day, a woman finds herself by the cozy corner of a local Tim Hortons, sipping coffee. It's a lazy Saturday afternoon.
On the tabletop sits a half-eaten bran muffin, its crumbly texture revealing hints of raisins and oats peeking through the crust. Wisps of steam rise from the rich, velvety coffee, laced with promises of caffeine-induced comfort. As she reaches the halfway mark of her bran and raisin muffin, a cascade of memories transports her back in time.
The next hour slides by, looking out the window onto the not-so-busy street, a few people out for errands and some heading inside to grab a quick coffee.
She finds comfort in being seated at her usual spot, the view is the best from here. If the time is right, she will spot three women, walking their dogs and engrossed in talking. They are out at this time every day. She guessed them to be in their sixties and they always have a kind of energetic disposition. She wonders what kind of lives they live, houses they live in, and how many years of friendship this is. It brings a smile on the woman's face as she thinks about her friends who are now scattered across continents and she longs to meet them.
Suddenly there's a lot of noise. Another group of friends, young girls and boys, have just entered the cafe, causing her to snap out of her thoughts back into the present moment.
Everyone seems to be celebrating friendship today. She wants to talk up to them and tell them how lucky they are to have such friends, tell them to hold on to their friends forever and cherish them, value their presence. But she simply smiles and sips on her coffee, getting cold already just like the temperature outside that has started to drop.
She must head back home, to her home away from home.