Great Minds Think – The Literary Rug-Pull Challenge
The Last Bench
Every Friday evening, she found him sitting on the same weathered bench overlooking the sea.
He always wore the same charcoal coat, held the same worn notebook, and smiled as though he had been expecting her all week.
“You came back,” he would say.
“I said I would.”
They spoke for hours.
About music.
About stars.
About the lives they wished they had lived a little more bravely.
He never asked for her phone number.
She never questioned why.
Somehow, Friday was enough.
Weeks became months.
She began bringing coffee for two.
He always thanked her, although she never actually saw him drink it.
One evening she laughed.
“I know almost everything about you.”
He smiled.
“Not quite.”
She tilted her head.
“What don’t I know?”
He looked toward the horizon where the sun was melting into the ocean.
“You’ve never asked why I only meet you here.”
She shrugged.
“I suppose I never needed to.”
He nodded thoughtfully.
“Fair enough.”
The wind picked up.
A white feather drifted between them before settling beside the bench.
He reached for it.
His fingers passed straight through.
For just a heartbeat, she thought she had imagined it.
Then he smiled.
“I think it’s time.”
“For what?”
“For you to remember.”
Before she could answer, a young couple approached.
The woman looked at her kindly.
“I’m sorry,” she said softly.
We didn’t mean to disturb you.”
“You aren’t disturbing us,” she replied, smiling toward the man beside her.
The couple exchanged worried glances.
“There isn’t anyone else here.”
She laughed.
“Very funny.”
The young man hesitated.
“My grandmother used to tell me about this bench.”
She frowned.
“What about it?”
He swallowed.
“They say every Friday, a woman comes here to meet the fiancé she lost fifty years ago.”
The notebook slipped from her hands.
It hit the ground already yellow with age.
Inside the cover, written in faded ink, were the words:
To my beloved…
I’ll meet you every Friday.
Even if only one of us remembers.
When she looked back toward the bench…
It was empty.
Except for two untouched cups of coffee.
With love, coffee, poetry, and stardust,
— Maggie The Afterlove Voice 💫
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