I speak first, breaking the silence, "Why do you have gasoline in your bag?"
By now the fire had died, only spirals of smoke curled up.
"I was on my way to burn bridges."
"What?" I ask, stunned. "What are you burning bridges for?"
One look at my face has his lips twitching. "Not those kinds of bridges. They're more metaphorical." He heads down to a corner of the room, grabbing a brush. He gathers the burnt remains, throwing them into the trash.
"Thank you," I say. "Please... Promise you won't tell anyone."
"Your secret's safe with me." He inserts the gasoline back into his bag. He looks at me. "Wanna come?"
Slinging my own bag, I say, "Sure."
Before we leave, we drag a new table into the empty space, concealing the burnt spot. Students linger in the hallways, with many relaxing in
