October 16, 2026

Mr. Simon had always believed that life after sixty would be slow, predictable, and neatly arranged like the pill boxes his wife kept on the kitchen counter. But retirement had surprised him. It had given him time, too much time to observe people, to think, to judge, to unjudge, and to rediscover the strange ways in which life teaches lessons. 

He had also given up drinking. Not because he wanted to, but because Dr. Steven had looked at his blood report, removed his glasses, and said in that firm, clinical tone: 

“Simon, your sugar is climbing. And the liquor isn’t helping. Cut it down.” Simon had obeyed by giving it up entirely. He was that kind of man. 

But he never expected that the doctor himself would become the centre of his thoughts in the months that followed. 

The Wedding Party: 

The wedding hall was a riot of colour, shimmering saris, crisp suits, jasmine garlands, and the clinking of cutlery. Simon and his wife had found their seats early, as they always did. She was already chatting with the lady next to her, comparing the décor to the last wedding they attended. 

Simon, meanwhile, watched the crowd with the quiet curiosity of a man who had spent a lifetime observing human behaviour from the sidelines. Then the announcement came. 

“Ladies and gentlemen, the bar is now open!” 

It was as if someone had fired a starter pistol. Half the hall surged toward the counter. Simon remained seated, hands folded neatly on his lap. He had not touched alcohol since the day doctor warned him. He told himself he didn’t miss it. 

But his eyes drifted toward the bar. 

Dr. Steven, tall, silver haired, impeccably dressed, walking with the confidence of a man who knew exactly where he was going. He reached the counter, accepted a glass from the bartender, and raised it cheerfully toward a group of friends. Simon’s jaw tightened. 

‘So this is the man who lectured me about alcohol. Advises others to quit but can’t resist a drink himself. Hypocrite.’ 

He didn’t say it aloud, but the thought simmered. He felt betrayed in a strange, irrational way. The doctor had influenced his life, his habits, his choices. And here he was, sipping whisky as if it were holy water. 

“Why don’t you go get something? Even a juice?” Simon’s wife nudged him. 

“No,” he said curtly. “I’m fine.” 

But he wasn’t fine. He was unsettled. The rest of the evening passed in a blur of speeches, laughter, and dancing. But Simon’s mind stayed fixed on that single image, the doctor’s raised glass, the easy smile, the contradiction. 

“You were unusually quiet today,” his wife said when they returned home. 

“Just tired,” Simon simply replied. 

But he wasn’t tired. He was thinking. 

The Birthday Party: 

A month later, they attended a birthday celebration for a neighbour’s granddaughter. The hall was smaller, but the energy was louder. Children ran around with balloons, teenagers danced to blaring music, and adults tried to shout conversations over the noise. 

Simon stood near the wall, watching the chaos with mild amusement. 

Then he saw him again. 

Dr. Steven. 

This time, the doctor walked toward the bar with a relaxed smile, as if he had all the time in the world. He ordered two pegs, relished them slowly, and scanned the room. For a brief moment, their eyes met. 

A tiny nod passed between them, not friendship, not familiarity, just acknowledgement.

Simon looked away quickly, embarrassed by the sudden rush of thoughts. 

He’s over sixty. He’s enjoying his life. He’s not drunk. He’s not reckless. He’s simply… living. 

Simon felt his earlier judgement soften. The doctor wasn’t a hypocrite. He was a man who understood balance. Moderation. Joy. 

Simon watched him laugh with his wife, help a child reach a plate of snacks, and compliment the host. There was nothing irresponsible about him. He was simply a man who knew how to enjoy a moment. 

Maybe giving up completely wasn’t the only way. Maybe knowing your limits was also wisdom. 

For the first time in years, Simon felt a small, surprising desire, not for the drink itself, but for the freedom of choosing without guilt. 

The doctor, unknowingly, had inspired him. 

“You looked thoughtful today,” When they returned home, Simon’s wife said. 

“Just observing people,” Simon replied. 

But he wasn’t just observing. He was changing. 

The Funeral Reception: 

The third time was unexpected. 

A funeral reception, quiet, sombre, filled with murmurs of condolences. People moved gently, speaking in soft tones. Even the air felt respectful. 

Simon stood near the corner, hands clasped, when he noticed Dr. Steven again. The doctor was walking toward the bar counter. 

Something inside Simon clicked. 

He followed. 

A familiar bartender looked surprised when Simon ordered a drink. 

“Whisky,” Simon said, his voice steady. “Just one.” 

He held the glass carefully, almost ceremonially. The amber liquid caught the light, and for a moment, Simon felt a strange mix of nostalgia and rebellion. 

When he turned, he found Dr. Steven beside him, holding a glass of orange juice.

Simon blinked. 

“I’m Simon,” he said, feeling oddly shy. 

“I know you,” The doctor replied warmly. 

“Cheers. But… where’s your peg?” Simon lifted his glass. 

Dr. Steven raised his orange juice with a gentle smile. 

“I gave up,” he said. “Inspired by you.” 

“Me? Why?” Simon froze. 

“I’ve watched you more than once. A man with your means could indulge in anything… yet you chose restraint. You chose health. That discipline impressed me,” Dr. Steven smiled. 

A soft laugh escaped him, the kind that comes from the heart, not the throat. 

“Well,” Simon said, lifting his drink with a playful glint, “I restarted. Inspired by you. Cheers.” 

“Cheers.” The doctor chuckled. 

Two men, two journeys, two choices, each unknowingly guiding the other. 

They clinked glasses, juice and whisky, and in that quiet corner of a funeral hall, something simple and beautiful happened. 

Two strangers became companions in understanding.