The strangers we become

Jay stared into his coffee. It had long since lost its frothy art—a wilted fern now, though he couldn't remember what the barista had attempted in the first place. The coffee shop was bustling, filled with the drone of conversation and the clatter of keyboards. And yet, in that moment, the world seemed colourless, like a filter had drained away all hues except varying shades of melancholy. Tinder, Bumble, Twitter, Instagram—icons on the phone that promised connections but delivered pixels and heartache. Jay swiped through faces, each a blur, as empty as the next. Occasionally, a real meet-up would occur, an encounter with a human being who felt like an avatar brought to life. There was laughter, drinks, sometimes a kiss, sometimes a fuck, but it always felt performative—a comedy sketch rehearsed but never genuinely lived. Cynical humour. Today, Jay decided to escape the apartment for this very coffee shop, a different sort of theatre. In this place, strangers were a background noise, a comforting white noise that didn’t demand anything. An irony, really; surrounded by people but isolated by choice. A choice that grew from fear, confusion, detachment, or maybe just that same omnipresent hollowness. Jay chuckled at the absurdity of it all. The coffee shop was a microcosm of the human condition: Everyone texting, talking, scrolling through life, each person just a little bit lost, even if they wouldn't admit it. It was poetic. But the sort of poetry that made you want to laugh until you cried or maybe just keep crying where there is nothing to laugh at all. The bell at the entrance chimed and in walked Alex — a person Jay knew from a couple of classes back in college. Nothing ever too deep. But Alex had the ability to deliver distraction at any moment they met. Jay hesitated. In this mood it was a bit like it always was when he had been on mushrooms. His surroundings were a fragile construct of his present state, and he did not feel very appreciative of even a thought of any outside interference that could throw ripples through that small bubble of reality. But he also did not have the energy to hide. And he was curious, if Alex saw him and if so, even would remember. He looked up to see. In the best or worst moment. They exchanged glances. Was that a flicker of recognition in Alex's eyes? It appeared so, for Alex approached the table. "Hey," Jay said cautiously, as Alex approached. The greeting hung in the air like a question mark. "Hey! Jay, right? Long time!" Alex's eyes scanned the room before settling back on Jay. "Mind if I join you?" "Sure, have a seat." Conversations with Alex were always a dive into the profound and the absurd. Today, it oscillated between climate change, existential dread, and the hilarity of dog memes. Every so often, Alex would flash a self-aware smile, a tiny acknowledgment that they too understood the strangeness of these human interactions. Yet, as the conversation progressed, Jay felt even more adrift. Each word they exchanged seemed to widen the gap of understanding, like two parallel lines destined never to meet. It was as if Jay and Alex were conversing in two different languages, each polite enough not to point out the other's incomprehensibility. Finally, Alex glanced at their watch—a minimalist piece that seemed more aesthetic than functional. "I should get going. It was nice catching up, Jay." "Yeah, it was. See you around, maybe?" “Definitely!“ As Alex left, the word "definitely" echoed in Jay's mind. It was the kind of definiteness that felt entirely uncertain, like repeating the "maybe" from before but with more syllables. So, alone again, back to square one, the coffee now as cold as the distance felt. Each encounter, each conversation seemed to pull him further into the orbit of their own solitude. He played with the spoon and caught his reflection in the piece of cutlery—distorted, fluid, unclear. How fitting. A barista called out another convoluted coffee order, snapping Jay back to reality. Gathering his things, and leaving a tip under the saucer, he walked out into the fading sunlight. As he made his way home, Jay could not help but wonder: Was the loneliness easier to bear when surrounded by strangers? Or did each interaction merely deepen the chasm, each face a mirror reflecting a version of themselves that felt stranger and stranger? It was a thought, a question without an answer. And as Jay closed the apartment door behind him, shutting out the world once again, he realised it was an answer he was neither ready to seek nor find. And so he kept lingering — in that space between loneliness and the illusion of connection, where it was easy to go through the known motions. For a little while longer, or maybe eternity, he would stay in that realm of existential comedy that wasn't quite a tragedy in itself, but was far from a laugh.