Lejla first noticed Marko collecting forgotten umbrellas after a funeral. He had been a longtime friend of her colleague, who died unexpectedly. They had no reason to speak except that she found glasses on an empty chair and did not know their owner. Marko recognized them, called him, and stayed until he returned.
They stood beneath the awning for almost half an hour. They did not discuss life's meaning. They discussed the colleague's bad parking, overly strong coffee, and inability to finish a telephone conversation. Once both laughed, then fell silent as though caught being improper. Marko said their late friend would probably ask them to keep at least one of his faults secret.
They exchanged numbers for a photograph album the friends planned to assemble. They sent pictures and brief memories. Later they began sending ordinary things too: a broken advertisement, a film recommendation, a question about buying good tea. Each time Lejla felt joy, then guilt at enjoying a message connected to someone no longer alive.
After two months Marko invited her for coffee. She declined, saying she was busy. The day was not the problem. She feared their beginning would always seem something taken from somebody else's ending. When he asked again, she told the truth. Marko listened, then admitted sometimes talking to his phone as though needing to explain to his friend why he was messaging her.
They did not decide loss had sent them somebody. They did not want that comfort. They merely acknowledged meeting that day and now enjoying conversation. They arranged Sunday coffee. Lejla wore a green jacket, left the black coat in the wardrobe, and arrived early. Marko already waited with a book he wanted to lend her, unrelated to their mutual friend.
Conversation was easier than expected and sadder than if they had met at a birthday party. They accepted both. Months later they delivered the completed album to the family together. Afterward they bought dinner groceries and argued about how many onions they needed. Lejla suddenly laughed in the shop. Their closeness finally contained ordinary parts too. At home she hung her green jacket beside his coat and put on pasta water without asking the past's permission to be hungry and happy on the same evening.