“First the Coffee, Then You”
Lily stirred her porridge lazily as Jack burst into the kitchen, eyes gleaming with excitement. “Lily, listen—I’ve got it! A startup. Brilliant idea. Totally unique! A delivery platform for everything—from socks to kebabs!”
“That already exists,” she replied, unfazed.
“But ours will be different!” He pointed dramatically at the ceiling. “AI-powered smart delivery! The algorithm predicts what you want before you even order!”
“So… mind-reading?”
“Exactly! It’s revolutionary.”
“And where will you work on this?”
“Well… here, for now. Baby steps. A home office, so to speak.”
“Jack. I *also* have a ‘home office.’ It’s called my job. And I’ve got a deadline.”
“Sweetheart, we won’t get in each other’s way. I’ve already called the lads—they’re in. It’ll be brilliant!”
The “lads” turned out to be four.
By 9 AM the next morning, Lily stepped into the kitchen and froze. Three blokes and a girl in a hoodie that read “Freelance Life” were camped at the table. The coffee smelled like a barista festival, laptops covered every inch, and a chart titled “Growth: From Pipe Dream to Profit” was taped to the fridge.
“Morning!” one of the bearded lads chirped.
“I live here,” Lily replied.
“Brilliant! We do too. Well, sort of,” Jack winked. “Meet Tom, Dave, Emily, and Harry—the dream team!”
“How long?”
“Until we take off.”
“And if you don’t?”
“There’s no ‘if.’ Only ‘when.'”
Lily reached for the coffee, only to find matcha in the machine. The kettle reeked of orange-scented bath bombs, and the milk was gone—replaced by coconut cream. She retreated to the bedroom and shut the door.
“Work begins… in hell,” she muttered.
The next day, she opened her laptop and slipped on headphones. A minute later—knocking.
“Lily, have you seen my Mac charger?”
“No.”
“Mind typing quieter? We’re brainstorming.”
“It’s a keyboard. It’s meant for typing.”
“We’re figuring out how to monetize breakfast pancake delivery.”
“*Before* breakfast? And now?”
“Prep phase!”
A week in, Lily’s flat felt like a co-working space, and she was the uninvited guest.
Emily’s laundry hung in the living room. Tom fiddled with the router. Harry Zoomed clients from the kitchen. And Jack was thrilled: “We’re on the brink of a breakthrough! Just need a few case studies!”
“And *space*. A little. A smidge,” Lily said, pouring coffee from the mug someone had filled with chia seeds.
“You’re not used to creative energy!”
“I’m used to silence. And my home being *mine*. Not… an office with air freshener and one charger for five people.”
When Emily Zoomed from the shower on Friday, Lily snapped.
First, subtly. She “accidentally” unplugged the router. Five minutes later, Tom knocked:
“Wi-Fi’s down—is yours working?”
“Must be the provider.”
“*Now?* We’ve got a pitch!”
“Universe says no.”
The next day, she changed the Wi-Fi password. The network? “Peace_And_Quiet.” Jack panicked: “Who sabotaged us?!”
“Or maybe it’s a sign?”
“We had an investor meeting! He couldn’t join the Zoom!”
“Maybe because you’re in the *living room*, not an office?”
“This is the *dream* home, not an office!”
“Then why do I feel like a tenant?”
On Monday, disaster struck. The investor backed out—”unprofessional vibe,” especially after Emily stormed out mid-call in a towel, yelling, “Who took my shampoo?!”
Jack slumped onto the bed, silent.
“We messed up.”
“Oh, you *noticed*?” Lily closed her laptop. “I thought you’d moved in permanently.”
“I just wanted to build something…”
“And built a hostel. With energy bars for meals.”
“Bad plan?”
“It was *our* home. Now I’ve vanished in it.”
“You never said—”
“Would you have listened?”
He stayed quiet.
“Maybe… we should rent an office,” he finally whispered.
“You *thought*?”
“Yeah. Properly. With a team—not ‘brainstorms’ by the toaster.”
“And the kettle?”
“New one. Guarded.”
“And the Wi-Fi?”
“My word.”
A week later, the living room was theirs again. Emily moved to a co-working space. Tom got a “real job.” Harry left for Edinburgh. Dave vanished.
Jack rented an office in “The Hive” and texted Lily: “Wi-Fi included. No socks on the chandelier.”
She opened the window. Silence. Coffee in her favorite mug. The kettle no longer reeked of despair.
“I’m home,” she said aloud. Then smiled.
And changed the Wi-Fi password: “Discuss_It_With_Me_First.”
A week passed. The drip of the tap became a luxury—after grinders, Zooms, and matcha in the kettle, it was almost meditative.
Lily sipped coffee by the window, her dog napping beside her. The new router bore a sign: “Do Not Touch.” Jack had written it—and sworn off “open-plan bedrooms.”
He kept his word. Mostly.
“Lily, hi!” Jack called from the hall. “Just a minute!”
She turned. There he stood—with a bloke in glasses and a hoodie.
“This is Alex. Developer. Genius. Need to show something on your screen—just a sec?”
“My *monitor*?”
“It’s bright! The office bulb blew.”
“One bulb?”
“Startups adapt!”
“You *promised*—”
“Fifteen minutes. Swear!”
An hour later, Lily emerged. Alex was on her PC. Jack fried eggs. Trainers lay on the *rug*.
“Moving in?” she asked.
“Don’t be daft! Just… cozy here. Smells like buns!”
“That’s my candle. ‘Silent Rage.’”
Jack grinned. “Love your humor.”
“Love *boundaries*,” she pointed to the door. “Time’s up.”
That night, they talked.
“I get you’re angry,” Jack said. “But he’s a good lad. One hour. We barely *breathed*!”
“And you’re justifying again.”
“You think I’d restart the chaos?”
“No. You’re sneaking it back. One person. One laptop. One ‘tiny’ project.”
“It’s not the same!”
“It’s *worse*. Like a virus—quiet, then everywhere. Strangers in my kitchen. Their mess in my life.”
Jack went quiet.
“I didn’t mean—”
“But you did. You fear losing the idea so much, you lose *me*.”
The next morning, Lily left for a co-working space—without a word. Expensive, noisy, plastic-smelling. But no Jack. No “lads.”
He knew it was serious when he found her note:
“Wi-Fi’s on. Kettle’s in the cupboard. I’m out of the startup zone.”
Three days later, he arrived with flowers and puppy-dog eyes.
“I get it now,” he said. “I thought the idea was everything. But I was wrong.”
“What is?”
“*Us*. And trust. Without it, no startup survives.”
“Poetic. Yours or Alex’s?”
“Thought of it alone. In *silence*.”
“Imagine that.”
They smiled. Went home. To the quiet.
But perfect silence never lasts.
A week later, *Emily* appeared—hoodie, duffel bag, and all.
“Sorry,” she said. “My socket blew. Mind if I crash here? Just two days?”
They exchanged glances.
“Em…” Jack began.
“I’ll pay! I just… can’t live where the neighbor raps all night.”
“We’re not a B&B,” said Lily.
“I miss *normal*. Proper tea. Your buns.”
Lily sighed. “Two days. No shower Zooms.”
Emily brightened. “Wi-Fi password?”
Lily and Jack chorused: “Discuss_It_With_Me_First.”
**Lesson:** Love thrives in shared space—not just ideas, but respect for the lines that keep “us” intact.
