WONDERING WONDERLAND

KOPIKO

How amusing.

Two adults whose positions far outranked those of most people in the room, yet still capable of engaging in a staring contest that required not a single word. They didn't need to raise their voices or openly display their displeasure. A pause when the other person spoke, a smile arriving a fraction too late, or the way a glass was placed on the table was enough to communicate something between them.

And the most interesting part was that no one at the table seemed inclined to stop them.

I suppressed a smile as I reached for my glass of water. Perhaps this was one of the few forms of free entertainment I could get out of an event like this. Usually, I had to concentrate on conversations about production targets, investment values, and corporate expansion plans. Tonight, at least, there was a little show that required neither a written report nor an approval signature.

Of course, I wasn't foolish enough to interfere. I knew my place. They could test each other's patience as much as they liked, but as long as no one dragged my name into their game, I would remain right here, sitting pretty.

This wasn't my business. Let the rich people play their games.

I'd be happy just watching.

...

Amid the grandeur of the ballroom, beneath the spotlights and the applause that erupted whenever someone finished speaking at the podium, I had already yawned several times.

I covered my mouth with the back of my hand, transformed the yawn into a long sigh, and disguised it as the thoughtful exhalation of someone contemplating something profound.

But the body had a truthfulness of its own.

I had been sitting in practically the same position for most of the evening, keeping my back straight and my feet neatly arranged beneath the table. Every so often, I had to stand to greet approaching guests, return their greetings, or participate in conversations I didn't particularly want to have. Each time I sat down again, I hoped to steal a few minutes of rest.

Unfortunately, events like this seemed unfamiliar with the concept of a break.

Applause rose again as a man at the podium concluded his speech. I joined in, of course. Before my mind had even processed what he had just said, my hands were already moving in rhythm with everyone else's.

That was the kind of reflex you developed after attending too many formal events. You didn't always have to be the most enthusiastic person in the room, but you certainly couldn't afford to look like the only one who didn't care.

I glanced at my watch, then quickly looked away before the movement became too obvious. Time always seemed to move more slowly whenever I wanted to go home. And according to the schedule, there were still several segments left before the guests would finally begin leaving the ballroom.

I drew a breath, trying to chase away the drowsiness gathering behind my eyelids.

"Ah, I forgot to bring blister pads for my heels," I muttered, suddenly remembering a trivial detail that had no place at an extravagant party like this.

My beautiful high heels had been biting into my skin for the past hour, ever since Juda had handed them to me in the car that afternoon and said, "These go best with your gown, ma'am."

Best, she had said.

Nobody had asked whether they suited my feet.

This wasn't an extravagant fairy tale. This was my actual life, complete with blisters.

I shifted my feet slightly beneath the table, hoping to find a position that hurt a little less. Unfortunately, the small movement only made the sting more noticeable. The shoes were beautiful, certainly. Their elegant shape complemented my gown, and their design made me look considerably more graceful.

But whoever had designed them seemed to have forgotten that human feet were made for walking, not merely for decoration at formal events.

I resisted the urge to take them off right then and there.

Imagine sitting barefoot at VIP Table Number One. By tomorrow morning, people might be discussing it as though it were the most significant event in the company's history.

Nabi, Vice President of Steel Lamiere, takes off her shoes in the middle of a formal event.

I nearly laughed at the thought.

No. Thank you.

I still wanted to preserve my reputation, at least until the event was officially over.

I turned to look behind me, intending to signal Juda, my secretary, who stood among the shadows cast by the pillars. She was far enough from the table, but I knew she had been keeping an eye on her surroundings all evening. I recognized her silhouette: shoulders always leaning slightly forward, tablet held against her chest.

Usually, one small gesture from me was enough for her to understand what I needed. All I had to do was touch the back of my heel or gesture toward my feet, and she would find a way to bring me something without drawing attention.

But before I could move, a hand appeared beside me from the left.

Mr. Tanuja held out a Band-Aid along with a single Kopiko coffee candy he had retrieved from his trouser pocket. He placed both on my lap, beside my small clutch, with the delicacy of someone laying a petal on the surface of water.

He said nothing.

Only his eyes spoke, briefly and softly as a passing breeze.

His movements were so discreet that no one else at the table noticed. And somehow, it was that very discretion that touched me. His actions suggested that he had known me for a long time, longer than either of us had ever admitted to ourselves.

Kopiko.

A cheap coffee candy wrapped in a crumpled brown wrapper that had been sitting in his pocket.

In a ballroom where everything was expensive, that tiny object felt like the only honest thing in the room.