Chapter 2
1314 Words
The second time Ivy went, there was a bag of potato chips on the coffee table.
Plain. Placed dead centre on the glass coffee table, perfectly aligned, like an exhibit. Asher was standing in the same spot as before—next to the monitor, against the wall farthest from the sofa. He had on a different hoodie today, dark blue, though it looked nearly identical to the last one.
"You bought chips," Ivy said.
"You said you needed food."
"I meant food." Ivy sat down and picked up the bag. "But you only bought chips."
"Does that not meet the definition of food?"
Ivy nearly laughed. "It does. Chips are a type of food. But most people keep a slightly wider variety. Cookies, chocolate, fruit. Things like that."
He was quiet for a second. Ivy could practically see him taking mental notes.
"Understood. I'll supplement next time."
"You don't have to. I was just saying it." Ivy tore open the bag. "You don't need to take everything I say literally."
"Then how do you determine which statements should be taken literally?"
Ivy chewed on a chip and thought about it. "By tone. If I'm smiling when I say it, it's usually just a passing comment. If I'm looking at you directly and speaking seriously, then it's meant literally."
He nodded, his expression as serious as if he were memorising an important formula.
"So what do you want me to answer today?" Ivy asked.
---
Their sessions had settled into a routine. Asher asked questions, Ivy answered, and occasionally they swapped roles. At first his questions focused on consumption habits.
"What's your monthly food budget?"
"Around three to four hundred. If money gets tight at the end of the month, I cut back."
"What's the logic behind cutting back?"
"Fewer snacks, no takeout, more pasta."
"Why would money become insufficient?"
"Because life always has unexpected expenses." Ivy shrugged. "Last month my keyboard broke and I had to replace it. My mom's medication sometimes has out-of-pocket costs."
Asher was quiet for a moment.
"So your financial situation has no buffer zone."
"Like a leaking bucket." Ivy gestured with a chip. "You keep pouring water in, but there's always somewhere it's leaking out. All you can do is make sure it doesn't leak faster than you can pour."
He considered this. "That metaphor has a high degree of accuracy."
"Thanks." Ivy ate another chip. "What about you? Have you ever bought anything yourself?"
He thought for a long time.
"Books. Online."
"Besides books?"
A very long pause.
"I don't really go out."
"Then how do you eat?"
"My grandfather's assistant delivers groceries once a week. Someone comes to cook."
"So you've never been to a grocery store? Never stood in line at a restaurant?"
"Are those things necessary?"
Ivy leaned back against the sofa and looked at him.
"So you're not asking me these questions because you need data. You're asking because you genuinely have no concept of how ordinary people live."
He lowered his gaze.
"These things you're describing—are they what people call 'common sense'?"
"More or less."
"Then that part of me is missing."
His voice was quiet. For the first time, Ivy heard something else in that flat tone. Like a machine running smoothly that had suddenly caught on a tiny gear, making a faint, unfamiliar noise.
She was quiet for a few seconds. Then she stood up.
"Let's go."
He looked up. "Where?"
"There's a convenience store downstairs. Today's lesson: how to buy a bottle of water by yourself."
---
When the automatic doors of the convenience store slid open, Asher stood at the entrance for a second.
"Come in. Don't block the doorway," Ivy said.
He stepped inside, then stopped, not knowing which way to go.
"First, get a basket."
He picked up a shopping basket the way someone might handle an object they weren't sure would explode.
"Then what?"
"Buy at least five things, all different categories. This is your assignment."
Asher began walking slowly through the aisles. He studied every shelf from end to end, like he was conducting a formal inspection.
"The number of brands is irrational." He stopped in front of the toothpaste section. "Twenty-eight kinds of toothpaste. For a basic cleaning function, this is oversupply."
"That's marketing. You don't need to analyse it. Just pick one you like."
"I don't have one I 'like'."
"Then pick the one with the nicest packaging."
He picked up a blue-and-white tube, examined it, and placed it in the basket. Then he added a toothbrush, a loaf of bread, and a bottle of water. Four items. One more to go.
He looked around. The store was bright with white light, everywhere colourful packaging and sale signs. His eyes landed on the shelf next to the register.
He picked up a chocolate bar.
"This one. The label is the same colour as my hoodie."
Ivy couldn't help it. She actually laughed out loud. When she did, Asher looked at her, tilting his head slightly.
"You laughed."
"Because what you said was funny." Ivy wiped the corner of her eye. "Choosing a chocolate bar because the colour matches your hoodie—you really—"
She stopped. She noticed his mouth had moved. A tiny, almost invisible curve.
"Are you smiling?"
"I don't know. I'm not sure this expression meets the definition of a smile."
Ivy looked into his eyes.
"Then let me ask a different question. Are you happy right now?"
He was quiet for a moment. The air conditioner hummed. Somewhere a refrigerator compressor kicked on.
"I don't know what happiness feels like." He paused, his voice dropping lower. "But I hope you don't leave too quickly."
Ivy didn't say anything. She looked away from his face, picked up the chocolate bar from his basket, and studied it.
"Come on. Let's go pay."
---
The cashier was a young woman. When she scanned the items, she glanced up at Asher, a flicker of surprise in her eyes, then returned to professional politeness.
"That'll be seventeen thirty."
Asher pulled out a black card.
The cashier looked at the card, then at him, and swiped it. "Do you need a bag?"
"Yes."
"Plastic or reusable?"
He paused. Ivy saw his lips press together.
"Reusable."
When they walked out of the store, it was already dark. The street lamps had come on, and students were passing by in twos and threes.
Asher stood at the entrance, holding the reusable bag.
"That cashier looked at me longer than she looked at other people." There was no vanity in his voice, only genuine confusion. "Was it because of the card?"
"Partly." Ivy pulled her jacket tighter. "And partly just you."
He looked down at the bag in his hand.
"There's too much information. It's more complicated than I anticipated."
"This is everyday life," Ivy said. "It's messy. There are traces of people everywhere."
Asher didn't answer. He looked at the lit windows of the lecture hall across the street, and after a long moment he spoke.
"My grandfather said the clause about not establishing personal relationships was to protect me."
Ivy turned her head to look at him. "What do you think?"
He didn't answer.
That night, Ivy went back to her dorm. Her roommate Maya looked up from her bed.
"You seem like you're in a good mood."
"Do I?"
"You were smiling when you walked in."
Ivy hung her jacket on the back of the door and didn't answer.
"What's that guy like?"
Ivy thought for a moment. The white light of the convenience store. The chocolate bar. *I don't know what happiness feels like.* And then: *I hope you don't leave too quickly.*
"He's hard to describe," she said.
"Is he cute?"
Ivy threw a pillow at her.
But as the pillow left her hand, she realised she was still smiling.
- Writer
