Verse 9

"Apple, Mint, and Ginger it is," the vendor said, already mixing the combo.

I ended up getting the medium plastic cup with a pink straw, because why not? I took a sip, expecting to wince.

Huh. Not bad.

Actually … surprisingly good.

Elena ordered hers with Passion, Mango, and a splash of Ginger. She must really love ginger.

We kept walking down the stretch of food stalls. The air was thick with spice and charcoal, with the occasional aggressive wave of grilled meat smoke hitting us square in the face. It smelled amazing, though. Not gonna lie.

After the drink, Elena insisted on picking the food too, saying something to the extent of “You clearly can’t be trusted with flavour decisions.”

Clearly not true, I was just nervous at the time.

“You like samosas?” Elena asked, already tugging my sleeve toward the next stall.

“I like anything with meat inside,” I said. “Even surprise meat.”

She laughed. “That sounds like a slogan for a sketchy food truck.”

“Exactly why it works.”

We grabbed two samosas each—beef for me, chicken for her.

The next vendor sold grilled meats—chicken skewers, beef sausages, fried liver, you name it. The air was still heavy with spices and smoke, and my stomach roared like a jet engine. Clearly, those two tiny samosas weren’t going to cut it. Elena turned to me with a smug grin, having heard it too.

"Alright, hungry boy. I get to choose again."

"Whoa, hold on…"

She was already talking to the vendor. "Two skewers. One chicken, one beef. Extra chili.”

“Are you trying to kill me?”

"Consider it... exposure therapy," she said, accepting the paper-wrapped skewers and handing me one. "Now eat."

I took a careful bite. The flavor hit instantly—sweet, then spicy, then fire. Not burn-your-face-off spicy, but enough to make my nose tingle and eyes water slightly.

"You’re crying," she teased.

"I’m not crying. It’s… flavor appreciation."

Then she spotted another stall selling fried plantains and dragged me over. At this rate, I was going to be rolled out of here by the time we’re done.

The next one with grilled corn. Then fries. I think, at some point, I blacked out and just started handing over Kraps like I was in a food-induced trance.

Before I knew it, we were both carrying takeaway containers stacked like mini towers and sipping our juices like we’d just won a prize.

This whole food area was actually set up by the University specifically for students who didn’t want to waste their money on overpriced cafeteria food. Even they know their food is priced like it’s seasoned with gold dust.

I heard the students call it the TrayZone. Get it? I don’t either. Honestly, it should be called the Stalls Mall. Rolls off the tongue way better if you ask me.

Since the stalls were made for the students, naturally, there was a place to sit. You know the youth and their weak knees.

“There,” she pointed. Across the road, under string lights and a big canvas canopy, sat a bunch of wooden tables and chairs. Students were laughing, eating and chatting like it was a weekend picnic.

“Let’s go sit,” she said casually.

“Ah… actually….”

Think of something, you idiot. But my brain wasn’t braining.

“I was thinking of eating in my room. You know, peace, Wi-Fi, no mosquitoes,” I finally said.

Mosquitoes? Gahd! That was the best I could come up with?

“Come on, you can’t expect to sit all alone,” she pouted. “It’s just food. Five minutes. If it sucks, you can go.”

I hesitated.

She was already halfway across the street.

Well, crap.

I followed her.

But just for the record—this is exactly why I wanted to come here alone.

We found a corner table—thankfully not one of those at the center of attention. I slid into the seat opposite her and placed my containers down, trying not to look like I was mentally calculating the closest exit.

I had a clear path to my right locked in.

Elena waved at someone walking by, then someone else came over, said hi, then sat down for a few minutes to chat. Another girl leaned over the back of her chair to talk.

This is a place of eating—can I have some peace to chew my food?

People always make fun of the lonely guy at a restaurant table. But honestly? He’s probably the happiest person there. He gets to enjoy his food, uninterrupted. No forced smiles. No weird small talk. Just vibes and chewing.

I kept my head low and got to work. I didn’t realize I was still hungry.

Elena was still talking, laughing, joining conversations like she knew everyone. She glanced at me a few times, expecting me to chime in.

DENIED.

I couldn’t relate.

So, I did what any sane, socially exhausted person would do. I took out my right earbud, popped it in, and tapped play.

Music. God’s greatest gift on Earth.

A chaotic place like this needed some smooth soul music. I got on YouTube and hit shuffle on Songs in the Key of Life—Stevie Wonder’s best album.

Keep dreaming, Spotify. Why would I pay you money when I can listen to music for free?

I focused on the bass thumping softly in my ears and the texture of the fries between my fingers.

Let her talk. Let them talk. I didn’t belong in that world of easy charisma.

But I could sit here. Quietly. Eat my food.

And not screw this up by being… well, me.