The café around the corner smelled of coffee and warmth, but an unshakable sense of unease clung to the air. At one table, a group of five was sitting, their hushed voices blending with the background hum. Their expressions were tense, their gestures sharp—whatever they were discussing, it was serious.
Trump had upended everything over the last two months. The dark-haired man gripped his coffee cup tightly, his voice low but urgent. Was he talking about Ukraine? About how America had turned its back, leaving Europe exposed? About how Trump and Putin were negotiating over Ukraine’s future while Zelensky wasn’t even at the table? The very idea was chilling—Putin playing Trump like a pawn, reshaping borders without resistance.
The red-haired woman frowned, shaking her head. Maybe she was thinking about what happens when Russia decides to push further—when there’s no one left to stand up for Ukraine, or for Europe as a whole.
One of the others, a man with tired eyes, spoke with quiet fury. Was he talking about Gaza? About how Israel had shattered the ceasefire, resuming its full-scale bombardment of Palestinians. About how Trump had called it the "new Riviera," as if the suffering, the destruction, the lives lost, were just inconvenient details in a grander vision? Were Palestinians simply expected to vanish, erased under the weight of war and indifference?
The woman next to him pressed her lips together. Perhaps she was thinking of a world where entire nations—Greenland, Canada—could be claimed like chess pieces in some billionaire’s game, their fates decided in smoke-filled rooms, far from the people who live there.
And then there was Musk. The unelected shadow behind the throne. No one wanted a Tesla anymore—it had become a symbol of betrayal. Tariffs, mass firings, entire government agencies dissolving overnight… what was left of order?
And now Europe was rearming. Governments scrambling to boost military spending, factories shifting production overnight, politicians no longer speaking of peace but of deterrence, of readiness. The old world was slipping away, replaced by something colder, something harsher. Was war inevitable? Would they be called upon to fight?
For a moment, no one spoke. Perhaps someone had asked the question they all feared—what happens next? The dark-haired man stared at his empty cup.
I finished my coffee and glanced at them one last time. They were just five young people in a café, but their worry for the future was clear. It’s obvious—the time of innocence is over.