The Coffee Table Agreement

The café was the kind of place that made you sit up straighter without trying.

Not in a stiff way—more like your body remembered you were a person who deserved nice things.

There were tall windows that spilled sunlight across honey-colored wood tables. The air smelled like espresso and warm vanilla, like someone had baked something small and expensive. A vase of white flowers sat on the counter—simple, quiet, like it wasn’t trying to impress anyone.

And in the back corner by the window, their table waited like it always did.

Mila arrived first, because Mila always arrived first. Not because she was early. Because she didn’t like the feeling of walking in and scanning the room like she didn’t belong there.

She belonged here.

She slid into the booth, set her phone face down, and loosened her scarf like she’d been holding her breath since Tuesday.

Her outfit was effortless in a way that wasn’t actually effortless—cream trench coat, gold hoops, jeans that fit like a promise, and boots that clicked softly on the floor when she crossed her legs. Her nails were clean and short. Practical. Quietly polished.

She pulled out her notebook and wrote one line.

I’m done forcing.

She stared at it for a moment like it might argue back.

“Is this seat taken?” a voice asked.

Aria, of course.

Aria was dressed like she’d woken up in a Pinterest board. A soft pink sweater, hair clipped half-up with a pearl barrette, and a tote bag that looked suspiciously heavy for someone who claimed she was “traveling light through life now.”

Mila looked up, deadpan. “No. But I charge rent.”

Aria slid in, grinning. “Perfect. I brought my own emotional support lip gloss and I’m ready to pay.”

She dumped her tote bag on the bench and started pulling things out like a magician with no self-control.

A planner. A mini perfume. Two books. A small pouch that clinked—probably crystals. And a pair of sunglasses even though they were inside.

Mila watched. “Do you… live in that bag?”

Aria smiled brightly. “It’s my portal.”

“To where?”

“Wherever I stop pretending I’m low maintenance.”

Mila laughed, despite herself, and that was the first sign the day might turn out okay.

Aria leaned forward like she was about to deliver an announcement. “Okay, I have something to say.”

Mila sighed. “If you’re engaged—”

“I’m not engaged.”

“—if you’re quitting your job to become a full-time aura photographer—”

“I am not an aura photographer.”

Mila raised her eyebrows. “Yet.”

Aria pointed at her like she’d been waiting for that. “You are not allowed to manifest my downfall.”

Mila smirked. “I’m not manifesting it. I’m just observing your trajectory.”

Aria gasped dramatically and then softened. “No. It’s not that. It’s… a decision.”

Mila’s expression changed, the way it always did when Aria said “decision.” Because Aria didn’t make decisions lightly. Aria made them like she was opening a door in her own life and stepping through.

“A decision about what?” Mila asked.

Aria lowered her voice. “About us.”

Mila blinked. “Us?”

Aria nodded. “Like… our thirties. Our lives. The way we’ve been doing everything.”

Mila leaned back. “Okay. Start talking before the other two arrive and you get stage fright.”

“I won’t get stage fright,” Aria said, offended.

Mila gave her a look.

Aria sighed. “Fine. I might. But still.”

The bell above the café door chimed and Luna walked in like a quiet breeze.

Luna always looked like she had time. Even when she didn’t.

She wore a soft gray cardigan that draped instead of clung, a simple gold necklace, and a long skirt that moved gently around her ankles. Her hair was in a low bun that looked like she’d done it in a mirror without thinking about it too hard. She carried herself like someone who had learned—slowly, painfully—that calm was a choice.

When she spotted them, she smiled with her whole face.

“Hi,” she said, sliding into the booth beside Mila. “You both look… very alive today.”

Aria pressed a hand to her chest. “Thank you. That’s my new vibe.”

Mila waved her off. “That’s her new personality for the week.”

Luna’s eyes twinkled. “Let her have it.”

Aria leaned toward Luna like she’d been waiting for a witness. “I’m about to propose something important.”

Luna set her phone down gently. “Okay.”

Mila signaled to the barista with two fingers. “We need coffee before we make life proposals.”

Luna smiled. “Agreed.”

They ordered without looking at menus. That was the thing about their table. It wasn’t just a place to drink coffee. It was a place where they became themselves again.

Aria always got something sweet. Mila always got something strong. Luna always got something that sounded like it belonged in a wellness retreat.

The barista delivered their drinks with a small plate of pastries that Aria definitely did not order but definitely accepted like it was destiny.

“Okay,” Aria said, hands on the table like a council meeting was about to begin. “Before Noelle gets here and starts being the reasonable one, I need to say this.”

Mila took a sip. Luna waited quietly.

Aria exhaled. “I’m done chasing my life.”

Mila blinked. “You say that like you’ve been sprinting.”

“I have,” Aria said, suddenly serious. “Maybe not on the outside. But inside? I’ve been running like if I stop, everything will fall apart.”

Luna nodded slowly, like she recognized that run.

Aria’s voice softened. “I want this season of life to be… easy.”

Mila looked at her carefully. “Easy like lazy?”

Aria glared. “Easy like… not gripping. Like not forcing. Like not doing that thing where I make a whole PowerPoint in my head about how to fix my feelings.”

Luna laughed quietly. “That’s very specific.”

Mila shrugged. “Relatable.”

Aria’s eyes flicked between them. “I’m serious. I want our thirties to feel like… a soft life.”

Mila made a face like she was trying not to roll her eyes too hard. “The soft life.”

Luna tilted her head. “What does that mean to you?”

Aria brightened, grateful for the question. “It means… we still want things. We still dream. We still build. But we stop punishing ourselves on the way there.”

Mila opened her mouth, probably to challenge her, but the bell chimed again and Noelle walked in, already smiling like she had been looking forward to this all week.

Noelle had that warm energy that made people confess things accidentally. She wore a camel coat, simple sneakers, and a scarf in a cheerful color that looked like she’d chosen it for happiness on purpose. She had a small paper bag in her hand.

“Don’t hate me,” she said as she slid into the booth. “I brought something.”

Aria immediately reached for the bag. “Is it a gift?”

“It’s a peace offering,” Noelle said. “I made banana bread.”

Mila’s eyes widened in actual delight. “You made banana bread?”

Noelle shrugged like it was nothing, like she didn’t understand that food was her love language and they all depended on it.

“I figured,” Noelle said, “if we’re going to talk about life, we should have something warm and comforting in the middle.”

Luna smiled at her. “That’s the most Noelle sentence I’ve ever heard.”

Noelle sat back and looked around at them. “Okay. What did I miss?”

Aria clapped softly. “Perfect timing. We’re starting a new season.”

Mila snorted. “She thinks we’re characters.”

Aria pointed at her again. “We are. In my mind. And it’s a very successful show.”

Noelle laughed. “I’d watch.”

Luna nodded. “Same.”

Aria leaned forward, eyes bright. “Okay. Here’s the thing. I’ve been thinking. We’re all in our thirties now. And somehow that means everyone expects us to have it figured out.”

Mila stirred her coffee too hard. “Do we?”

Noelle gave her a look. “Mila.”

Mila shrugged. “What? It’s a question.”

Aria continued. “And I’m tired of feeling like I’m behind. Or late. Or wrong.”

Luna’s gaze softened. “You’re not.”

Aria’s voice wobbled slightly, like she wasn’t used to admitting things in daylight. “I know that. But my nervous system doesn’t.”

Noelle nodded. “Okay. That’s real.”

Aria took a breath. “So I want us to make an agreement.”

Mila raised an eyebrow. “A legal agreement?”

“A friendship agreement,” Aria said.

Noelle smiled. “I like it already.”

Luna asked gently, “What kind of agreement?”

Aria placed both hands on the table like she was about to swear an oath. “This season—like, this year—we stop forcing things.”

Mila frowned. “Define forcing.”

Aria pointed at her. “Exactly. Thank you. That’s why you’re here.”

Mila leaned back. “Go on.”

Aria spoke faster, like if she slowed down she’d lose courage. “We stop chasing people who don’t choose us. We stop overworking ourselves to prove we’re worthy. We stop treating rest like a reward we have to earn.”

Noelle’s face softened. “Yes.”

Luna nodded slowly. “Yes.”

Mila’s eyes narrowed. “Okay but what about goals? We can’t just… sit around in silk robes waiting for the universe to deliver everything.”

Aria smiled. “No one said silk robes.”

Mila gave her a look. “You implied it.”

Luna spoke calmly. “It’s not about doing nothing. It’s about doing things without fear.”

That landed somewhere in Mila’s chest. She didn’t show it, but it did.

Noelle leaned in. “I think the agreement is… we still show up for our lives. But we don’t abandon ourselves in the process.”

Aria snapped her fingers. “That. That’s it.”

Mila stared at her coffee. “Okay. But how do we actually do that?”

Luna smiled softly. “One moment at a time.”

Mila groaned. “That’s not helpful.”

Luna laughed. “It’s true.”

Noelle reached for the banana bread and placed slices on napkins like she was blessing them. “We can make it practical.”

Aria nodded eagerly. “Yes. Practical.”

Noelle counted on her fingers. “One: we stop saying yes to things that drain us.”

Mila nodded reluctantly. “Okay.”

Noelle continued. “Two: we don’t rush each other. No ‘you should be here by now’ energy.”

Luna’s eyes warmed. “Thank you.”

Noelle smiled. “Three: we celebrate the small wins. Like… actually celebrate. Not just move on to the next thing.”

Aria’s eyes sparkled. “Yes.”

Mila looked up. “And four?”

Noelle paused, then smiled like she’d saved the best for last. “Four: once a week, we meet. Coffee, walk, shopping, whatever. But we stay connected. We keep the table.”

Something softened in all of them at the same time.

Mila’s throat tightened a little, unexpected. “The table,” she repeated quietly.

Luna looked out the window at the sunlight on the street. “It matters.”

Aria’s voice turned playful again, like she needed to lighten it. “See? This is why you’re my favorite humans.”

Mila scoffed. “We’re your favorite humans this week.”

“No,” Aria said, very seriously. “You’re my favorite humans in every timeline.”

Luna laughed. Noelle smiled.

Mila pretended to be unimpressed, but her eyes were gentler now.

They ate banana bread. They talked about outfits. They debated whether Mila should buy the boots she’d been stalking online for weeks.

Aria pulled up pictures on her phone and shoved it toward them. “Look. I need you to tell me if this coat makes me look like I’m trying too hard.”

Mila stared. “You are trying too hard.”

Aria gasped. “Mila!”

Mila smirked. “I’m kidding. It’s perfect. Buy it.”

Noelle leaned in. “Aria, you look like a woman who is about to fall in love in a bookstore.”

Aria’s face lit up. “That is the exact energy I want.”

Luna sipped her latte and watched them with a quiet smile, like she was storing the moment in her bones.

Then the conversation drifted, as it always did, into the real stuff.

Mila stirred her coffee again, slower now. “Can I say something without you guys trying to fix it?”

Noelle’s eyes softened immediately. “Always.”

Luna nodded. “Yes.”

Aria leaned in, suddenly gentle. “Tell us.”

Mila stared at the table like it held answers. “I keep feeling like… I’m behind.”

Aria opened her mouth, but Noelle shook her head slightly—let her speak.

Mila exhaled. “Everyone acts like thirty-something is supposed to look a certain way. Like you’re supposed to have a certain kind of calm. A certain kind of certainty.”

Luna’s gaze stayed on her. “Mm.”

Mila’s voice tightened. “And sometimes I feel like… I’m doing everything right, and still… I don’t feel settled.”

Noelle reached across the table and placed her hand over Mila’s for a second. Not dramatic. Just there.

Aria said softly, “Maybe settled isn’t the goal.”

Mila looked at her. “Then what is?”

Luna spoke, voice quiet but clear. “Peace while it unfolds.”

Mila blinked. Like something in her wanted to resist that. Like her whole life had been built on “peace after.”

After the promotion. After the savings account. After the perfect plan.

Luna continued gently. “You don’t have to earn ease.”

Mila swallowed. “That feels… illegal.”

Noelle laughed softly. “We’ll make it legal.”

Aria lifted her mug. “Okay. So it’s official. This season, we are not forcing anything.”

Mila sighed. “What about forcing ourselves to be happy?”

Aria frowned. “Ew. No.”

Noelle nodded. “No forcing happiness. Just choosing what feels lighter.”

Luna smiled. “And when it doesn’t feel lighter, we’re allowed to be human.”

Mila looked at them—really looked. Four women. Four timelines. One table.

“Okay,” Mila said finally. “I’m in. But I need accountability.”

Aria grinned. “Oh, we will absolutely hold you accountable.”

Mila narrowed her eyes. “That sounded threatening.”

“It is,” Aria said sweetly. “We will drag you into softness if we have to.”

Noelle laughed. “With banana bread.”

Luna smiled. “With love.”

Mila shook her head, but she was smiling now. “Fine.”

Aria clinked her mug against Mila’s. Then Noelle’s. Then Luna’s.

They made a small circle of sound—ceramic on ceramic—like a spell that didn’t need dramatic music behind it.

Outside, the city moved. Cars passed. People hurried.

Inside, four women sat in sunlight and made a decision that didn’t look like anything to anyone else.

But it felt like everything.

When they finally stood to leave, they bundled themselves in coats and scarves like the world was cold but they weren’t.

They stepped out into the afternoon with coffee still warm in their hands and laughter trailing behind them.

Aria hooked her arm through Noelle’s. “Okay. Next week, we do the soft life experiment.”

Mila groaned. “What does that even mean?”

Luna smiled, looking up at the sky like she already knew. “It means we stop gripping.”

Mila shook her head. “I hate how right you are.”

Noelle laughed. “You love how right she is.”

Mila sighed. “Maybe.”

They walked down the street together—past storefronts and windows and little moments that felt like they belonged to them.

And for the first time in a while, Mila didn’t feel behind.

She felt… here.

And that was enough to make her want to see what happened next.