The Bench by the Lake by Diana Kohut

The bench was old.

Really old. The kind of old where the wood had turned gray and soft in places, like it had been soaked in rain and memory for too long. Every Saturday at exactly ten, Eleanor would sit on the left side, thermos of black tea in hand, book balanced on her lap. Same routine, no exceptions. Except today. Someone was already there. A guy—young, early twenties maybe—was hunched over, elbows on knees, eyes locked on the water like it held some kind of answer. He didn’t even notice her until she was standing right in front of him.

Eleanor:

“You’re in my seat.”

Guy:

“Oh—uh, sorry. I didn’t realize it was taken.”

Eleanor :

“It’s not. Technically. Just habit.”

Guy :

“Well, you can have it back.”

She sat beside him. Not too close. Just enough to share the bench, but not the space.

Silence settled. Then:

Eleanor:

“You don’t look like someone who comes here often.”

Guy:

“First time, actually.”

She nodded, like that explained enough.

Guy :

“I used to come here when I was a kid. With my dad. Before he passed.”

Eleanor :

“I’m sorry.”

Guy:

“Thanks. It’s been five years. I thought maybe coming back would… I don’t know. Make it feel real again.”

Eleanor:

“Did it?”

He stared at the lake. The way the wind barely rippled it.

Guy:

“A little. But I didn’t expect to run into anyone.”

Eleanor:

“Most people don’t.”

He chuckled under his breath.

Guy:

“Did you lose someone too?”

Eleanor:

“A son. Forty years ago.”

He turned toward her, surprised but not in a rude way.

Guy:

“That’s… a long time.”

Eleanor:

“It is. But pain doesn’t really go away. It just gets quieter.”

Guy:

“Does it ever stop surprising you?”

Eleanor:

“No. But you learn how to sit with it. Like we’re sitting now.”

He smiled a little. A real one.

Guy:

“I’m Adam.”

Eleanor:

“Eleanor.”

They shook hands like it mattered.

Adam:

“I almost didn’t sit down. Was gonna keep walking.”

Eleanor:

“And miss a perfectly good conversation? That would’ve been a shame.”

Adam:

“Maybe I’ll come back next Saturday.”

Eleanor:

“Only if you bring your tea.”

He grinned.

Adam:

“Deal.”