The Last Table

The restaurant was always busy.

Except for one table.

Table 12.

It was never reserved.

Never used.

Every evening, the owner placed a single candle on it.

One night, I asked why.

He didn't answer immediately.

Then he told me about his brother.

They had opened the restaurant together thirty years earlier.

His brother died before they could celebrate their first anniversary.

Table 12 was where they used to sit after closing.

They would talk about their dreams.

The restaurant was supposed to become successful.

They wanted to open another location.

They wanted to travel.

They wanted to make their parents proud.

Only one of them got to see those dreams happen.

The owner kept Table 12 empty because he wanted his brother to remain part of the restaurant.

Years later, the restaurant became famous.

Customers asked about the empty table.

Some thought it was a marketing trick.

It wasn't.

It was simply a brother refusing to forget.