The moment you open ‘Before the Coffee Gets Cold’, you’re met with a question that aches in your chest: If you could go back, who would you meet? It’s a gentle, yet profound entry point to a story that quietly tugs at your own ‘what‑if’ memories; those moments we replay, hoping for understanding or forgiveness. I thought of people who misunderstood me: companions who treated me unfairly, critics who never heard me. What led them to those actions or beliefs? Would their view change if we had the chance to talk, to make amends—or at least understand?

But that led me nowhere. Instead, I turned my attention inward–to my eleven‑year‑old self. I wanted to sit with her, hold her hand, and say: It’ll be okay. Grades aren’t everything. That she doesn’t need to read into every lyric or try to decode every note in her parents' journals, that hard work alone doesn’t always open doors, and at that moment, the cafe’s magic—its strange, bittersweet power—struck me as deeply personal.

Set in a tucked‑away Tokyo alley inside cafe Funiculi Funicula, the novel introduces us to Kazu, the reserved waitress who holds the key to time travel. But it isn’t whimsical. Only one seat can take you back: the one habitually occupied by the ghost of a woman deep in her books. You can only jump in when she briefly leaves once a day. Once seated, you must drink the coffee served by Kazu and stay seated. Step away, and you’re yanked back to the present. These rules become part of the tension and charm: they frame each story, reminding us how fleeting chances often are.

Four interwoven tales unfold under these constraints. Each traveller seeks something different: to forgive, to heal, to remember, or to warn. Though they begin as individual threads, they weave together until the cafe itself feels like the central character—an old friend who listens without judgment and subtly leaves you altered upon exit.

Author Kawaguchi’s strength lies in rendering small moments universal. The most affecting scenes focus less on sci‑fi mechanics and more on human emotion. A nurse‑wife’s quiet promise to be there for her husband, even if he forgets her. A girl from the future seeking a picture with a stranger, a snapshot of connection before it becomes memory. In these moments, you sense the shades between love and obligation, memory and identity.

One line that stayed with me from the book is, “Even if my identity is totally erased from his memory, I’ll still be part of his life—as his wife.” That quiet bravery, that shifting of roles and choosing to be a partner not out of sympathy but out of love, made me teary.

Beneath the emotional beats lie deeper reflection as one of the central themes in ‘Before the Coffee Gets Cold’ is the distinction between perception and reality. Through Kazu’s character who can only draw what she observes—the novel explores how our understanding of events and people is shaped by memory, emotion, and personal bias. What we see and hear is filtered through experience, fear, and expectation.

The time travel in the cafe doesn’t allow characters to change the past, but it gives them the rare chance to view it again, from a different angle. That shift, though subtle, often changes how they understand what happened and, more importantly, how they feel about it. In that way, the novel suggests that healing sometimes comes not from rewriting the past but from re-seeing it with clarity.

Another strong thematic thread is the idea of emotional transformation without physical change. The cafe’s rules are strict: the present will remain unchanged, no matter what is said or done in the past. Yet, the people who travel return changed. Their hearts are lighter, their regrets softened, and their relationships reimagined. The novel emphasises that closure or connection doesn’t always come from fixing things, but from confronting them. Whether it’s finally saying goodbye, asking the question left unsaid, or simply being present in a missed moment, the emotional shift becomes its own kind of resolution. Kawaguchi suggests that while we can’t control time, we can shape what we carry forward from it.

Talking about the writer’s quiet brilliance, Kawaguchi’s prose weaves sensory detail into every scene—the cha-ching of the coins, clank‑clank, clang‑dong of bell, or the kana-kana-kana sound of cicada. Through these touches, Japan’s history is also talked about in terms of different periods like the Meiji period: the transition from film cameras to digital, from old train lines to sleek metros. We glimpse a city that once was, even as we settle back into the cafe’s hush.

When the cafe magazine lays out the urban legend—yes, the present remains unchanged, no matter how far you go—the question occurs: What is the point of that chair? Kawaguchi answers it not with plot, but with heart: if one moment shifts a person’s outlook, if it grants courage or peace, the ritual is enough.

You meet four travelers, but they all share one journey: returning home different than they left. I felt that ache. Could I find that shift of heart within me?

The structure deepens with each story: the simple opening evolves into something woven with threads, connected by grief, regret, understanding. In the final tale, loose threads tie back to the first, illuminating earlier scenes with fresh knowledge—and emotional weight.

Talking about my favourite character it’d be Kei as she reminded me of my sister: gentle, observant, understanding. When she spoke kindness into Hirai’s life, it echoed something primal: the longing for acceptance, for being seen.

Some readers may find the final linking of stories predictable, as callbacks thread earlier details forward. But predictability doesn’t spoil the impact. It reinforces the web of empathy Kawaguchi builds, and you feel the warmth when connections land.

‘Before the Coffee Gets Cold’ isn’t a flashy novel. Four deceptively simple stories take place, and you don’t change the history here. You change yourself. And sometimes that shift is enough. If the movie ‘Midnight in Paris’ stirred something in you, this book will deepen it. It’s contemplative, quiet, atmospheric—but emotionally resonant.

It asks: What would one more moment mean to you?

I’d give this novel a 3 out of 5. It’s a solid pick for those just getting into reading or anyone looking for something straightforward to get back into the habit. It also works well when you want to feel like you’ve accomplished something. And it’s worth noting that you may want to avoid reading ‘The Midnight Library’ before this one, as the themes may overlap in a way that might affect how this book lands.

Before the Coffee Gets Cold

Author: Toshikazu Kawaguchi

Publisher: Picador

Year: 2019

Pages: 213