“First Coffee, Then You”
“Emily, listen, I’ve had a brilliant idea!” Jake burst into the kitchen, eyes gleaming like a mad inventor. “A startup. A game-changer. A one-of-a-kind delivery platform for everything—from socks to kebabs!”
“That already exists,” Emily said flatly, stirring her porridge.
“But ours is different!” He pointed dramatically at the ceiling. “AI-powered smart delivery! The algorithm predicts what you want before you even order!”
“So… mind-reading delivery?”
“Exactly! It’s revolutionary.”
“And where are you planning to run this?”
“Well… here. For now. Bootstrapping phase. A kitchen coworking space, if you will.”
“Jake. I have a ‘coworking space’ too. It’s called my job. And I’ve got a deadline.”
“Love, we won’t get in each other’s way. I’ve already called the team—they’re all in. It’ll be epic!”
The “team” turned out to be four people.
At 9 AM the next day, Emily walked into the kitchen and froze.
Three blokes and a girl in a hoodie that read “Freelance Life” were crammed around the table. The air smelled like a barista convention, laptops covered every surface, and a whiteboard on the fridge declared “Hypothesis Growth: From Zero to Dream.”
“Morning!” said one of the bearded ones.
“I live here,” Emily replied.
“Brilliant! So do we. Sort of,” Jake winked. “Meet Dave, Tom, Chloe, and Henry. The dream team!”
“How long is this…?”
“Until we take off.”
“And if you don’t?”
“There’s no ‘if.’ Only ‘when.’”
Emily reached for the coffee, only to find matcha in the machine. The kettle had what looked like a bath bomb floating in it—orange-scented despair. No milk. Just coconut water.
She retreated to the bedroom and shut the door.
“Workday starts now,” she muttered. “In hell.”
The next day, headphones on, Emily opened her laptop. A knock.
“Em, have you seen my Mac charger?”
“No.”
“Can you type quieter? Brainstorm session.”
“It’s a keyboard. It’s meant to be typed on.”
“We’re workshopping monetisation for breakfast pancake delivery.”
“Breakfast? What’s this then?”
“Pre-launch phase!”
A week later, Emily realised her flat had become a coworking space—and she was the uninvited guest.
Chloe air-dried her laundry in the lounge. Dave fiddled with the router. Henry Zoomed clients from the kitchen. And Jake? Thrilled.
“We’re on the brink of something huge! Just a few case studies and a bit of marketing!”
“And personal space. A sliver. A crumb,” Emily said, pouring coffee from her mug—now someone’s chia seed jar.
“You’re just not used to creative energy!”
“I’m used to silence. And my home being mine. Not an… office with air freshener and one charger between five.”
When Chloe took a Zoom call *in the shower* on Friday, Emily decided: enough.
First, subtly. She “accidentally” unplugged the router. Five minutes later, Dave knocked.
“Your internet working?”
“Nope. Provider issue.”
“*Now*? We’ve got a pitch!”
“Cosmic irony.”
The next day, she changed the Wi-Fi password. The network name: “PeaceAndQuiet.” Jake panicked.
“Who changed this? Sabotage!”
“Or a sign?”
“Em, we had an investor call! They couldn’t join!”
“Maybe because you’re in a lounge, not an office?”
“This is a dream home, not a desk farm!”
“Then why do I feel like a tenant?”
On Monday, disaster struck. The investor backed out, citing “unprofessional vibes”—especially after Chloe stormed out of the shower mid-call, towel-clad, yelling, “Who took my shampoo?!”
Jake slumped onto the bed, silent.
“We messed up.”
“Oh, you noticed?” Emily shut her laptop. “I thought you’d left the chat.”
“I wanted to build a business…”
“You built a dorm. With energy bars and scout-camp chaos.”
“Bad plan?”
“It was *our* home. But I vanished in it.”
“Why didn’t you say sooner?”
“Would you have heard?”
Silence.
“I’ve been thinking,” he said quietly. “Maybe we rent an office.”
“You *thought*?”
“Yeah. Do it properly. Team included, but no ‘brainstorms’ by the toaster.”
“And the kettle?”
“New. Personal. Guarded.”
“Coffee machine?”
“Password-protected.”
“Router?”
“Scout’s honour.”
A week later, the lounge was a lounge again. Chloe moved to a coworking space. Dave got a “proper job.” Henry fled to Manchester. Tom ghosted.
Jake rented a desk at Hive Business Centre and sent Emily a smug photo: “Wi-Fi. No socks on chandeliers.”
Emily opened the window. Silence. Coffee in her favourite mug. The kettle no longer reeked of citrus and doom.
“I’m home,” she said aloud. Then smiled.
And changed the Wi-Fi password: “DiscussFirst.”
A week passed. The flat was quiet enough to hear the dripping tap—a luxury after grinders, “ideation,” and shower conferences.
Emily sipped coffee by the window, her dog snoozing nearby. The new router bore a sign: “Do Not Touch.” Jake’s doing. He’d sworn off “open-plan bedrooms.”
He kept his word. Mostly.
“Em, hi!” Jake called from the hall. “Just a sec!”
She turned. There he stood—with some glasses-wearing bloke in a hoodie.
“This is Ben. Developer. Legend. Need to demo something on your screen. Two minutes.”
“My screen?”
“Yours is brighter! Office bulb blew.”
“One bulb?”
“Startup life, love. Agile. Adaptive!”
“You promised—”
“Fifteen minutes, tops!”
An hour later, Emily emerged. Ben was on her PC. Jake fried eggs. Trainers littered the rug.
“Moving in?” she asked.
“Course not! Just… cozy here. Smells like buns!”
“That’s my ‘Silent Rage’ candle.”
Jake grinned. “Love your humour.”
“Love my boundaries,” she pointed to the door. “Time’s up. Out.”
That evening, *the talk*.
“I get you’re angry,” Jake said, perched on the bed. “But Ben’s sound. One hour. We barely breathed!”
“Notice you’re justifying. Again.”
“You think I’d restart the flat-office thing?”
“No. I think you’re sneaking it back in. One ‘quick favour’ at a time.”
“Not the same!”
“Worse. Last time, you were honest. This is a slow creep.”
“A creep?!”
“Yes. Until it’s strangers at my table, strangers’ shoes in my bath.”
Jake looked down.
“I didn’t mean—”
“I know. But you’re so scared of losing the idea, you’re losing me.”
Next morning, Emily left for a coworking space. No drama. Just gone.
She paid a fortune for a noisy, plastic-scented cubicle. But no Jake. No “team.”
He realised it was serious when he found her note:
“Wi-Fi’s on. Kettle’s in the cupboard. I’m off-grid.”
Three days later, he arrived with flowers and puppy-dog eyes.
“I get it now,” he said as she removed her headphones. “I thought the idea was everything. That without it, I’d have nothing left. I was wrong.”
“What matters then?”
“Space. Yours. And your trust. No startup survives without it.”
“Poetic. Your words or Ben’s?”
“Thought of it alone. In silence. Imagine.”
“Miracle.”
They smiled. Went home. To the quiet.
But perfect silence never lasts.
A week later, Chloe turned up. Same ripped hoodie, same bag of chaos.
“Sorry,” she said. “My socket blew. Can I crash a few days?”
They exchanged glances.
“Chloe…” Jake began.
“I’ll pay! Just… my neighbour raps at 3 AM, and his cat’s a demon.”
“We’re not a B&B,” said Emily.
“I miss normal people. Proper tea. *Sanity.*”
Emily sighed.
“Two days. No shower Zooms.”
Chloe beamed, bolted inside, then yelled:
“Wi-Fi password?”
“Guess,” said Emily.
“What is it?”
Emily and Jake answered together:
“DiscussFirst.”
**Lesson:** Love means boundaries—not just broadband. The best ideas grow where respect does too.
