COFFINS AND COFFEE

The bell above the funeral home door gave a small jingle — sharp, clean, and unexpected. Ade didn’t move at first. He stared into his coffee, as if it held more answers than customers ever did. He took a slow sip, let the warmth settle in his chest, then finally glanced up. Someone was standing at the entrance. A woman. Young. Not the usual type who walked in with red eyes and a trembling voice. She wore a red scarf over thick, coiled hair and had a kind of quiet confidence about her—not arrogance, just… stillness like someone who had already made a decision and didn’t need permission. “Good afternoon, she said. Ade stood, pushing the invoice book aside. “Good afternoon. Can I help you?” “I hope so, she said, stepping closer. Her eyes scanned the display table — polished coffin catalogues, laminated service fliers, a price list he hadn’t updated in months. She didn’t look disturbed. Or sad. Or lost. Then she said it. “I’m here to plan my funeral.” He blinked. Just once. Maybe he misheard. “I’m sorry?” he asked, gently. “My funeral,” she repeated, this time slower. “For the service, I want something small. Preferably, the white coffin with the gold trim. No flowers, but maybe a red ribbon. And... do you know any jazz bands?” He didn’t say anything. What was there to say? “I’m not joking,” she added with a faint smile. “I’ve done my research.” She reached into her brown handbag, pulled out an envelope, and placed it on the table between them. It was thick. Ade opened it slowly. Cash. Neatly stacked. Enough for a full deposit. His gaze lifted back to her face. Calm. Too calm. “What’s your name?” he asked. “Efe,” she replied, taking a seat without waiting to be invited. “And you?” “Ade.” “Nice place, Ade. Peaceful. Smells like cedarwood and incense. If I weren’t here to plan my funeral, I’d say this place is… cozy.” He didn’t laugh. Not because it wasn’t funny, but because her voice held no joy. Just dry honesty. “How old are you?” “Twenty-six.” “And you want to die?” She looked at him, really looked, and shrugged. “Want is a strong word. Let’s say… I’m done trying to want anything.” He sat down across from her. “Efe, I don’t arrange suicides. I bury people. After they’ve gone, not before.” “I’m not asking for your help to die,” she said, folding her hands calmly. “I just want to make sure it’s not a messy goodbye. I want it to be… clean. Decent.” He was quiet again. Watching. Thinking. She was serious. That much was clear. “Why thirty days?” She looked away as if weighing something only she could see. “Because thirty-one would be greedy.” He raised an eyebrow. “It’s enough time to settle a few things,” she added. “And honestly? I’m giving life one last chance. A quiet one.” He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. “You have no family?” “No one who’d notice.” “No friends?” She paused. Her eyes flicked down to her lap. “Not anymore.” A heaviness settled in the room, thicker than the incense. Ade rubbed his jaw slowly. Then leaned forward. “Alright. Here’s the deal.” Efe tilted her head. “I’ll take your deposit. I’ll reserve the coffin. But for the next thirty days, you check in with me. Talk. Whatever this is — whatever you’re carrying — I want to hear it. All of it.” She gave a short laugh. “You want me to hang out with my undertaker?” “Call it what you want. You came to me. Let’s see if death is really what you’re looking for.” She looked at him, unsure. Cautious. But not dismissive. “And if I still want the funeral after the thirty days?” “I’ll give you a discount,” he said, deadpan. That made her laugh for real. It was soft, surprising — like she hadn’t done it in a while and wasn’t sure it still worked. “You’re strange, Ade. But not in a bad way.” “And you’re too young to be picking coffins.” She stood and picked up her bag. “Alright then. Thirty days. But I’m not making you cookies or telling you my life story on day one.” “I’ll settle for your name on the sign-in sheet.” She was halfway to the door when she paused and looked back. Her face had changed — less guarded, a little uncertain. “You might regret this, you know.” Ade held her gaze. “I regret drinking my coffee cold. The rest? I’ll risk it.” She smiled. This time, it reached her eyes. “See you soon, Undertaker.” Then she was gone. The bell jingled again. Chime. Pause. Silence. But this time, the silence wasn’t as still as before.