A Thousand Memories

Four

Leah called around midday.

I was on my bed with my laptop open. My notes were on the screen, but I was not studying. When her name showed up on my phone, I answered quickly.

“Hello.”

“Are you busy?” she asked.

“No,” I said. “I should be studying, but I’m not.”

“Good,” she replied.

“Good?”

“I need to do groceries,” she said. “I don’t want to go alone.”

I sat up. “Okay. When?”

“Now.”

“Now now?”

“Yes,” she said. “I’m outside.”

“Outside where?”

“Outside your building.”

I went to the window. She was there near the entrance, arms folded, wearing jeans, a plain shirt, and that cardigan she always wore. I grabbed my keys and headed downstairs.

When I stepped out, she looked at me and said, “You took long.”

“It’s been two minutes.”

“It felt long,” she said, then started walking.

I followed. “You could have texted.”

“I called,” she replied.

“That’s pressure.”

“You answered.”

“Because it was you,” I said before I could stop myself.

She didn’t react. She just kept walking like I hadn’t said anything that mattered.

The street was busy. Leah walked with purpose, like she didn’t want to waste time. I had to match her pace.

“You planned this,” I said.

“It’s groceries,” she answered. “I always plan groceries.”

She said it like that was normal, like everyone had a grocery system and rules for it.

In the store, she grabbed a basket and went straight into the first aisle. Rice, pasta, beans, oil, salt. She picked up items, checked prices, and moved on without hesitation.

“You cook?” I asked.

“Yes.”

“What do you cook?”

She looked at me. “Food.”

“That’s rude.”

“That question is boring,” she replied.

I laughed. “Okay. What’s your best meal?”

“Chicken stew.”

“When are you making it for me?”

She stopped and turned to face me. “Never.”

“Why?”

“Because you will talk through the whole meal.”

“I can be quiet,” I argued.

“You can’t,” she said, then kept walking.

We moved to vegetables. She chose tomatoes, onions, spinach, carrots, and potatoes. At the fridge section, she paused to check dates and grabbed milk, yogurt, and eggs. She didn’t talk much, but she didn’t look irritated that I was there either, which was something.

At the cereal aisle, she slowed down. She stood there longer than expected, staring at the boxes like she was making a serious decision. Then she grabbed a colourful cereal box and dropped it into the basket quickly.

I pointed. “That one?”

She gave me a look. “Don’t judge me.”

“I’m not judging. I just didn’t expect you to like that.”

“Keep your expectations to yourself,” she said.

I smiled. “I thought you only ate serious things.”

She grabbed a second box and added it too.

“Now I’m buying two,” she said.

“That’s not how choices work.”

“That’s exactly how choices work,” she replied.

In the snacks aisle, she tried to walk past like she wasn’t interested, but I saw her eyes on the shelves.

“You want snacks,” I said.

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No,” she repeated.

“Okay,” I said. “Then I want snacks.”

She didn’t stop. “Buy your own.”

I held up chips. “These?”

“No.”

Cookies. “These?”

“No.”

She stopped and looked at me. “Why are you doing this?”

“You look tired,” I said. “Snacks help.”

“You’re not a doctor.”

“I know,” I said. “They still help.”

She reached past me and picked a small packet of chocolate biscuits and put it in her basket quickly, like she didn’t want to be seen doing it.

I smiled. “So you do want snacks.”

“I didn’t say that,” she replied.

At the checkout, she paid without giving me a chance to help. I stood there with my wallet out, feeling useless.

“Let me pay for something,” I said.

“No.”

“Leah, that’s a lot of groceries.”

“I can pay.”

“I know,” I said. “I’m offering.”

She looked at me properly. “I invited you. That doesn’t mean you spend money.”

“I invited myself,” I said.

“That’s true,” she replied.

“Then let me pay for the cereal.”

She paused. “Fine. Only the cereal.”

I paid for the cereal. She paid for everything else.

Outside, the sun was hot. Leah adjusted her cardigan and squinted.

“You dress for winter even when it’s hot,” I said.

“I dress for myself,” she replied.

I carried two bags. She carried one. We walked toward her place without discussing it. She just turned in that direction and I followed.

In her apartment, she told me to take off my shoes. Then she unpacked everything quickly, putting it away like she needed something to focus on.

I stood near the table. “Can I help?”

“No.”

“Then why did you bring me here?”

She opened the fridge and said, without looking at me, “Because I wanted you here.”

She said it like it was nothing. Like it wasn’t the kind of sentence you remembered.

I froze. “Oh.”

She finally looked at me. “Don’t make it a big thing.”

“I’m not,” I said.

“You are thinking it.”

“I always think,” I replied.

She pointed toward the sink. “Water. You were sweating.”

“I wasn’t sweating.”

“You were.”

“I was fine.”

“Water.”

I drank water.

Leah washed vegetables and moved around the kitchen. After a moment she said, “Sit.”

I sat at the small kitchen table. She opened a cupboard, took out bowls, poured cereal into one, added milk, and put it in front of me.

I stared at it. “Is this for me?”

“Yes.”

“You made me cereal.”

“I poured cereal,” she corrected. “Eat.”

I took a bite. It was sweet.

“This is good,” I said.

“It’s childish,” she replied, then poured her own bowl and sat across from me.

We ate quietly for a minute. It felt normal. That was the strangest part. It wasn’t tense. It wasn’t forced.

Then Leah looked at me and said, “You enjoyed the movie.”

“You did too.”

“I didn’t,” she said quickly.

“You laughed.”

“I didn’t laugh.”

“You did,” I insisted.

She sighed. “I didn’t hate it.”

“That’s progress.”

“It’s a movie,” she replied. “It’s not progress.”

“Then why did you call me to go,” I asked.

She held my gaze for a second. “Because I wanted to.”

My throat tightened. I nodded. “Okay.”

I tried to keep it light again. “So when do I get to cook with you.”

She shook her head. “You can’t cook.”

“I can boil eggs.”

“That’s not cooking.”

“It’s still food.”

“You will make a mess.”

“I can clean.”

“You will complain.”

“I will not complain,” I said.

She raised her eyebrows. “You complain about everything.”

I smiled. “Only most things.”

That got a small laugh out of her. Quick. Real.

I pointed. “There it is.”

She stopped smiling. “Don’t.”

“I won’t mention it again,” I promised.

She finished her cereal and put her bowl in the sink. Then she said, “You can come next week too.”

“To groceries?”

“Yes.”

I leaned back. “Am I being promoted.”

“You’re useful.”

“That’s the nicest insult I’ve ever heard.”

“It’s not an insult,” she said. “It’s a fact.”

A quiet settled again. Leah started wiping the counter even though it was already clean. She looked distracted.

“Are you okay,” I asked.

“I’m fine,” she said.

“You were quiet in the store,” I said. “Not your normal quiet.”

She pressed her lips together. “I’m fine.”

I didn’t push. I waited.

After a while she said, “My father called.”

I looked at her carefully. “Okay.”

“He wants to visit.”

“Do you want him to,” I asked.

“No,” she said quickly.

I nodded. “Do you have to let him.”

She looked down. “It’s complicated.”

“Do you want to talk about it.”

“Not right now.”

“Okay,” I said. “Do you want me to leave.”

She hesitated. “Not yet.”

So I stayed.

Leah began chopping vegetables. Rice went on. Beans warmed. She worked quietly, focused on the food. I stayed seated and kept quiet.

After a few minutes she said, “He always calls when he wants something.”

“What does he want,” I asked.

“He wants to act normal,” she replied. “He wants to come and pretend nothing happened.”

I nodded. “That’s hard.”

She kept chopping. Her shoulders were tense.

“If he comes,” I said, “do you want someone nearby.”

She glanced at me. “You mean you.”

“If you want,” I said. “Not in your space. Just nearby. Close enough that you can call me.”

She watched me for a moment. “I don’t want you to feel responsible.”

“I’m not responsible,” I replied. “I’m choosing.”

“I don’t want to owe anyone,” she said.

“You don’t owe me,” I said. “We’re not doing debts.”

She didn’t answer, but she nodded once.

When it was time for me to go, she walked me to the door.

“Next week I’m buying snacks,” I said.

She frowned. “Don’t choose anything embarrassing.”

“I will choose something embarrassing,” I said.

“Don’t.”

“I will,” I said, smiling.

She opened the door and looked at me. “Thank you.”

“For what.”

“For not pushing,” she replied.

I nodded. “Anytime.”

She adjusted the collar of my shirt, quick and neat, then stepped back.

“Go,” she said.

I stepped out, then turned back. “Leah.”

“What.”

“You did good today,” I said. “You called. You went out. You talked.”

Her eyes narrowed. “That’s not an award.”

“I didn’t say it was,” I replied. “I just said you did good.”

She looked at me for a second, then said, “Go.”

I left and walked down the stairs.

On the way home, I thought about how ordinary the day was. Groceries. Cereal. Talking about something she didn’t want to talk about. Nothing huge happened. But it mattered. She asked for company. She let me stay. She did not push me out when things got serious.

And I knew her father visiting could change things, even if I did not understand how yet.

If she called again, I would answer.