I arrived before my friends this time. I could have stayed in the car for a few extra minutes, or scrolled through my phone until they arrived, but I preferred to sit early in the diwaniya where we usually gather to watch World Cup matches. I chose a table overlooking most of the place, ordered a cup of coffee, and let my eyes wander among the faces and tables.

Office Furniture

The place was slowly filling, as the evening fills with calm before the stands ignite on the screens. The smell of coffee mingled with the scent of mint tea, and laughter intersected with the voice of the commentator adjusting his tone before the match began. Many faces passed before me; dark and white faces, Arab, Asian, and African faces, faces carved by years with wrinkles, and others still retaining youthful features. Ages, colors, and dialects differed, but everyone seemed to have come with an appointment they were waiting for inside, or a small joy they hoped to share with others.

To my left sat three men over sixty. The match hadn't started yet, yet they were speaking excitedly about matches more than forty years old. One was recounting how he used to sneak out of home to watch a final match at a neighbor's house because not every home had a television, the second interrupted laughing, insisting that an old Brazilian player was better than all the stars of this era, while the third just smiled and sipped tea, occasionally making a short comment that made everyone laugh. It seemed to me that football for them was no longer just a game, but a box preserving memories of youth, and names of friends separated by life's preoccupations or taken by the years.

At the opposite table, there were four young men with the appearance of university students. Their phones never left their hands, but their conversations were warmer than their screens. One was complaining about his graduation project, another reassured him that the supervisor wasn't as difficult as he imagined, a third asked about a deferred exam, then suddenly all the talk turned to match predictions, and they argued about the expected result as if the fate of the world would be decided in ninety minutes. I smiled thinking that humans, no matter how busy their days, sometimes need two hours to forget exams and projects and everything waiting for them tomorrow.

Not far from them, there was a table gathering five young men wearing similar sports jerseys. Traces of fatigue were still clear on their faces, and their sports shoes stained with field dust confirmed they came straight from training. They spoke loudly, exchanging jokes and funny accusations about who missed an easy chance and who caused their team's last match loss. Amid their successive laughter, it seemed to me that training had ended, but their companionship had not, and that the most beautiful thing about sports is not what happens on the field, but what remains off it of company and camaraderie.

As for the table closest to me, it was the most thought-provoking. Around it sat a number of students from the Islamic University, brought together by multiple dialects and features from different continents. One from Nigeria, another from Indonesia, a third from Turkey, and a fourth from a Central Asian country. They spoke Arabic with varying accents, exchanged jokes with endearing innocence, and then argued about which national team they would support in the tournament. Yet it was clear that the difference in the flags they belonged to could not spoil the warmth of their gathering. Studies had brought them to one city, coffee had gathered them, and a simple desire united them; that none of them would spend their evening a stranger.

Perhaps Abu Hayyan al-Tawhidi best described such gatherings when he said: 'Conversation sharpens the mind, relieves the heart, dispels worry, and refines manners.' What was happening around those tables was not just passing chatter, but an ancient human attempt to resist alienation and regain some tranquility in the company of others.

Among all these tables, I was sipping my coffee slowly, waiting for my friends who were a little late. And I realized that a person does not always need deep conversations or exceptional occasions to feel happy. Sometimes it is enough to sit among faces he does not know, but feels they resemble him in something; in their need to laugh, in their fear of loneliness, and in their simple desire for the day to end with a cheerful voice, a cup of coffee, a beautiful match, and small memories that can still warm the heart when days grow cold.

While I was watching one of the replays on the screen, I heard a voice I knew well:

— It seems we're late on you.

I turned, and there were my friends, finally arrived. Each sat in his usual place, and the table filled with cups, questions, and laughter that needed no introductions.

The starting whistle blew, and voices rose in the diwaniya, but I was thinking about something else; that the tournament would pass, the flags would be folded, and these tables would return to their usual evenings, but one thing would remain as it is; that small longing that drives people to leave their homes at the end of the day, not just for love of coffee, nor solely passion for football, but a desire to find a face that smiles at them, a seat waiting for them, and a passing conversation that eases the weight of days.

Natural Science

Perhaps the coffee was transient, the matches were transient, and even the tournaments were transient, but companionship and intimacy are among the few things worth returning to again and again.