I cleaned a kitchen where the coffee still smelled fresh

I found a mug on the counter, half-full, cold but not stiff—like they’d just stepped out for a cigarette, not vanished. The filter in the machine was still damp. I left it. Didn’t scrub. It was the kind of quiet that doesn’t ask to be fixed—just remembered. I thought about who drank it last, and how the rain outside had paused just long enough for them to fill it.