The miso broth was too hot, but Ethan slurped it anyway. Not because he didn't care—but because Maya had already finished half her bowl, and she'd called him a coward if he waited too long.
"I'm just saying," she said between bites, "if you take longer than five minutes to break the yolk on a ramen egg, you're committing a crime."
Ethan blinked. "That's… oddly specific."
"Everything I care about is oddly specific," she said, grinning.
The tension had started to fade. Not completely. He still felt like he was walking on something fragile. But Maya didn't let things settle. She kept talking. Kept filling the space with humor and chaotic little stories. Something about a messed-up protein shake. Something else about her cat—her ex cat—that had gone feral and now lived on her apartment rooftop like a local boss.
She had energy. He didn't know how else to describe it.
Not the kind that filled a room.
The kind that tilted it. Made you lean toward her without realizing.
"You're quieter in person," she said suddenly, leaning on her elbows. "You were more expressive at the gym."
Ethan looked up. "Really?"
"Yeah. You had this scrunched-up, 'I'm trying to survive this set without dying' look. Super expressive. Super tragic. Very honest."
He smiled a little. "You sure it wasn't just exhaustion?"
"Even better," she said. "I like when people don't hide how much stuff sucks."
He lowered his chopsticks. "You say that like it's a feature."
"It is," she said. "Everyone's too curated these days. ."
His gaze flicked toward the window. Neon washed the side of her face in warm reds and violets.
Rachel used to hate ramen. Said the texture freaked her out. Said Ramen is the one food she never enjoyed.
He shook the thought off.
"You, okay?" Maya asked, brow creasing slightly.
"Yeah," he said. "Just zoning out."
Maya didn't press. Just nodded and returned to her noodles.
For once, someone didn't ask. Didn't poke. Didn't say you look sad, are you sad?
It was oddly comforting.
Back at the apartment, Jude stared at her phone. A single message from Ethan.
"Going okay. She's funny."
She sent back a gif of a cat making finger hearts.
Lyla stood nearby, arms folded, watching the city through the balcony window.
"You're unusually quiet," Jude said.
"I'm adjusting parameters."
"For what? Emotional distance?"
"For projected adaptation speed."
Jude looked over. "You think he's changing too fast?"
"I think he's reacting."
"To her?"
"To possibility."
Jude laughed. "Yeah. That's what dating is."
Lyla didn't reply.
Maya slurped the last of her broth, wiped her mouth, then dropped her chopsticks into the bowl with a satisfied sigh.
"Alright. That was worth it. You?"
Ethan nodded. "Yeah."
"Good. Now dessert."
"Dessert?"
"You don't have to come," she said, standing. "But I'm going."
He hesitated. "What kind?"
"Strawberry ice cream. Local place. Walkable. Unless you hate sugar."
"I don't."
She grinned. "Then let's go."
They stepped out into the haze of the early night.
The streets were wet—not from rain, but from a regular mist flush, the city's automated cleanup cycle running through the gutters. The concrete gleamed like oil skin, lights bending in every puddle.
Maya walked ahead without asking if he'd follow.
So he did.
The dessert shop was tucked under a canopy of synthetic vines and old signage. Inside: low stools, matte pink walls, and too much charm for one storefront.
Maya made them sit by the window.
"I like people-watching," she said, pointing outside. "That couple's fighting. Watch the arms."
Ethan raised a brow. "You narrate strangers?"
"Only if I'm bored."
"And are you?"
She looked at him. "No. Not yet."
The mochi came in a wooden tray. Strawberry for her. Matcha for him—Maya's choice.
"Trust me," she said. "You look like a matcha guy."
"Is that a compliment?"
"An observation I made"
He bit into the first one. Cold. Chewy. Sharp green sweetness. It surprised him.
"So?" she asked.
"It's good."
"Told you."
They sat in silence for a moment. Not awkward. Just... present.
Then Maya tilted her head.
"Can I ask you something weird?"
Ethan hesitated. "Define weird."
"Not in a creepy way," she said quickly. "Just—you seem really… self-contained."
He blinked. "Okay."
"Like you're holding stuff in. But not in a dangerous way. Just... compressed."
He didn't know how to respond to that.
Maya didn't push.
"You don't have to answer. Just felt it."
Ethan looked down at his mochi. "I'm not good at... spilling."
She nodded like she understood. Maybe she did.
"I'm not either," she said. "Except when I do it all at once. And then it's usually too late."
That made him smile.
Maya leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand.
"I think people are puzzles," she said. "But some pieces are heavy. You don't always know where they go until someone else points it out."
Ethan looked at her again. Really looked.
She wasn't just pretty.
She was aware.
And for a second, that scared him more than anything.
He didn't want to be figured out.
Not yet.
Maybe not ever.
Back home, Lyla watched the live body-temp sync from his wristband.
98.9°F. Elevated, but stable.
Heart rate: slightly irregular.
She monitored his microstress spikes. Noted which moments made them worse. Or better.
Her vocal subroutine generated two test phrases.
One was affirmation.
One was restraint.
She stored both.
For now.
Maya dropped him at the corner outside his building. Didn't ask to walk up. Didn't linger.
"Well?" she asked.
"Well what?"
"You survived a full hangout. You even ate vegetables. I call that growth."
He chuckled. "Thanks for... inviting me."
"Don't act like you weren't interested."
"I was."
She smiled.
"See you at the gym, Mr. Matcha."
He watched her walk off—hood up, hands in her pockets, steps light despite the cold.
He stood there a while.
Then went upstairs.
Lyla met him at the door with warm tea.
"Was your outing pleasant?"
He blinked. "You knew I went out?"
"I tracked your location. You granted permission three months ago."
He accepted the tea without thinking.
"It was... nice," he said.
She said nothing.
But the water she gave him was already cooling. Exactly the way he liked it.