At three on Saturday afternoon, Ethan arrived to find Aiden already seated by the window.
It was a café tucked into an alley, with hardly any decor. The tables were made of old wood, and the chairs were a little hard to sit on. But the coffee was cheap, and the owner never rushed anyone out. It was a good place for conversations that might take a long time.
An iced Americano and a sketchbook sat in front of Aiden, and he was drawing something. Ethan walked over and sat down. Without even looking up, Aiden said, “You’re late.”
“I’m five minutes early.”
“I’m twenty minutes early.” Aiden turned the sketchbook around for him. On the page was a crooked, lopsided building with “Our Company” written beside it, and three stick figures underneath.
Ethan looked at it for two seconds. “Is that supposed to be an unsafe building?”
“It’s called avant-garde.”
The door swung open, and Ryan walked in with his suit jacket draped over one shoulder and his sunglasses pushed up on his head. He glanced around the café, came over, sat down, and casually picked up Aiden’s iced Americano for a sip.
“Hey!”
“I’ll buy you one later.” Ryan set down the cup and looked at Ethan. “So you’re serious.”
“I’m serious.”
Ryan leaned back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest. He looked at Ethan the way he looked at clients—that gaze that judged how sincere someone was within three seconds.
“Go ahead. How long have you been thinking about this, and what have you thought through?”
Ethan took a stack of papers out of his backpack. It wasn’t a printed presentation. It was handwritten. The neat pages were filled with his vision for the company.
Aiden leaned over to look, and Ryan did the same.
The first page laid out the company’s core vision: Let everyone bring out their best work.
The second page outlined the initial division of responsibilities: Ethan would handle management and strategy, Aiden design and creativity, and Ryan sales and clients.
The third page contained the financial estimates. The three of them had enough savings to last about six months. If they couldn’t land steady projects within that time, they would have to consider going back to their respective jobs.
The fourth page was blank. Ethan had written only one line on it: “We’ll write this page together.”
When Aiden finished reading, his eyes lit up. Ethan knew that look well—from elementary school onward, Aiden’s eyes always shone like that whenever he came up with a good idea.
“I can design whatever I want?” Aiden asked.
“Within the client’s requirements, you’ll have complete creative control.”
“What if the client asks me for seventeen revisions?”
“Then we’ll find a way to make them happy by the third version.”
Aiden smiled. Ryan didn’t.
“Ethan,” Ryan said, lowering his voice slightly, “I’m going to ask you a few questions. Answer honestly.”
“Go ahead.”
“What’s the average gross margin for a design firm?”
“Twenty to thirty percent.”
“Do you know how high the failure rate is in the first three years?”
“Seventy percent.”
“Do you have connections? Relationships with major clients?”
“No.”
“Then what makes you think we can survive?”
The café was very quiet. The couple at the next table spoke in low voices, and a scooter passed outside.
Ethan met Ryan’s gaze without looking away.
“I’m not sure we can survive,” he said. “But I am sure that if we don’t try, the three of us will regret it ten years from now.”
Ryan said nothing.
“Every day, you sell things you don’t believe in. Every day, Aiden revises work he doesn’t want to revise. And every day, I watch talented people go to waste.” Ethan’s voice remained calm, but every word sounded like something he had thought about for a very long time. “We can keep living like this. The pay is steady, and our lives aren’t bad. But tell me honestly—are you happy?”
Aiden lowered his head and traced circles on the tabletop with one finger.
Ryan looked out the window. The corner of his mouth twitched, as if he wanted to say something, but swallowed it back.
“I’m not asking you to take this risk with me,” Ethan said. “I’m telling you that I’m going to do it, whether you come with me or not.”
Another long silence followed.
Aiden spoke first. “I’m in.”
Ethan looked at him.
“I’ve had enough,” Aiden said, his voice trembling slightly. “I’m sick of throwing my best work into the trash every day. Even if the company you’re talking about has only a one-percent chance of succeeding, I still want to try.”
Both of them looked at Ryan.
Ryan drew in a deep breath, then slowly let it out. He took his sunglasses off his head and set them on the table, then rubbed his face with both hands.
“Do you know what I hate most?” he said.
“What?”
“What I hate most is knowing that every single thing you said is right.”
Aiden snorted with laughter. The corners of Ethan’s mouth lifted slightly.
“But”—Ryan held up one finger—“I have conditions.”
“Name them.”
“First, I want to see the finances. I want every dollar spent to be completely transparent.”
“No problem.”
“Second, I call the shots on sales strategy. You two don’t understand the market, so don’t tell me how to pursue clients.”
“That’s your area of expertise.”
“Third—” Ryan paused. “If one day we really can’t keep going, we end things properly. We don’t drag it out until we can’t even stay friends.”
The light in the café shifted as the sun came in from the other side of the window, stretching long shadows across the tabletop.
Ethan held out his hand.
Aiden placed his hand on top of it.
Ryan watched them for two seconds, then added his hand as well.
“I’m definitely going to regret this,” he said.
“No, you won’t,” Ethan said.
“How do you know?”
“Because you never regret the things you truly want to do.”
Ryan froze for a moment, then laughed. It was a deep, wholehearted laugh.
They talked until the café closed.
They went from the company name to the office location, from their design style to where they should look for their first client. The more Aiden talked, the more excited he became, sketching more than a dozen logo drafts in his notebook. Ryan started analyzing the market with a salesperson’s mind, then laughed at himself halfway through. “I’m digging my own grave here.”
Ethan spent most of the time listening. He asked a question now and then, nodded occasionally, and added a few words to the stack of handwritten pages.
After being ushered out of the café, the three of them walked down the street and passed a convenience store. Ryan said he was thirsty and went inside to buy three cans of beer. They stood beneath the convenience store’s covered walkway, one can each, leaning against the wall.
“We still haven’t come up with a company name,” Aiden said.
“You’re the designer. You come up with one,” Ryan said.
Aiden thought for a moment, then looked up at the sky. It was perfectly clear that night, with a few stars visible.
“Islandlight,” he said.
“What?”
“Islandlight Design. ‘Island’ for an island, and ‘light’ for light.” Aiden pointed toward the sky with his beer can. “Everyone is an island, and everyone has their own light. What we’re going to do is help every island shine.”
Ryan turned to Ethan. Ethan was looking at Aiden, a quiet warmth in his eyes.
“Islandlight,” Ethan repeated. “It’s good.”
Ryan raised his beer can. “Then here’s to Islandlight.”
The three cans clinked together with a crisp sound.
The convenience store’s lights fell across them. Beside them was a covered walkway packed with scooters, and across the street stood a hardware store with its doors closed. There was nothing dramatic about the scene—no sunset, no music.
Just three people, three cans of beer, and a dream they still didn’t know whether they could make real.
But the breeze that night was cool, the beer was cold, and all three of them felt like they hadn’t been this clearheaded in a very long time.