They met at the same coffee shop where they saw each other for the very first time, nearly twenty years ago. Jonas spitted out everything he has to say to her with little air he always seemed to have every time Veronica was close enough. Just like that.
She drank her coffee at the same speed as she processed the information, in little sips and carefully not to burn herself. Jonas, contrarily, drank his in one gulp and stoically, endured the burning of his heart (and throat). There was a thick silence, like a bubble wrapping their table, as the rest of the coffee shop was loud and vibrant with conversations and discussions.
He was expecting an answer, but to a question he never asked while Veronica, wondered how she could feel the pangs of his gaze in her back, if he was right in front of her. Never mind.
Veronica put the cup down on the table. His breathing started to rag. She wore her scarf slowly, mentally going over each step. She took several coins from her purse and left them over the table. Jonas dared to look up and show her putting on her coat. She walked over his side of the table and he looked back down. She kissed him on his cheek, encouraging him to look at her. She smiled to him without a smile.
“Jonas,” she said with the sweetest voice “I am not the woman of your dreams, I am your brother’s wife”.
And the cups stayed there, one drank slowly and the other one in one gulp. But both, regardless, were empty.