They just sat there. Empty plates and full stomachs. They just sat there. The two of them. He and his friend. His friend fumbled with the glass tea pot and poured jasmine tea into his white cup.
“Sometimes,” he said, “I wonder where it all went wrong.”
His friend looked up.
“I wonder if I could pinpoint that very moment when I made that mistake, you know? Just to know when and with whom.”
His friend reached over the table, over the empty plates, over the glass pots and white cups of jasmine tea, to his hand.
“But even, even if I could, it wouldn’t be useful now, would it?”
His friend squeezed his hand. That was the only thing his friend could do at this moment. That was the only thing his friend could ever want at this moment, to be with him and no one else.