Chapter 8

A few days had passed. As usual, Jean arrived at the coffee shop early in the morning to prepare everything for the day. Fast-paced and efficient as she was, the place was ready in no time.

Thanks to John's help, she was now able to add pastries to her menu. He had helped her carry the ingredients to her apartment, where she had an actual kitchen. Her former bank didn't have anything of the sort. Her kitchen was fully equipped, perhaps better than most restaurants.

She flipped the sign from **Closed** to **Open** and waited, enjoying the quiet morning.

Not long after, the door opened.

Jean turned her head, only to discover a stretched alien hand reaching inside. The arm was impossibly long, extending from at least three blocks away all the way into the coffee shop.

The hand was holding a platter. Was that roasted pork belly?

"Seriously?" Jean complained. "You can't feed me something this fatty so early in the morning."

Having the hand deliver food wherever she was had become a habit to her by now. Weird as it seemed, she just accepted it. She knew she would be hungry later anyways.

"You know you can still bring sweets, right?" she added.

Did they not realize she had refused them because of the peanuts, not because they were sweet? That would be quite a silly misunderstanding. Or maybe they thought she preferred to make her pastries herself?

The hand glided in the air, back and forth, as if processing her words. But nothing sweet showed up. Instead, the hand lingered for a little while, as if scanning the tables and chairs. Eventually, it rested on a chair.

Jean didn't know what the hand was thinking, just as the alien didn't understand what she was thinking. She needed to continue experimenting.

So Jean decided to make a coffee for the alien and see what happened. Once completed, she placed the cup in front of him.

The hand seemed confused at first. Eventually, one finger started hovering over the cup. For a moment, Jean held her breath, thinking it might actually lift the cup by the handle, like a person would.

Instead, to her dismay, the finger simply dipped into the coffee.

Ouch.

The hand pulled back, clearly in pain.

"It's hot!" Jean exclaimed. "What on earth did you expect to happen?"

So even aliens felt pain. Jean sighed, like a parent scolding a child.

She held her own cup of coffee and took a graceful sip to demonstrate.

"That's how you do it," she added with a smile.

She realised the hand didn't have a mouth and her smile faded.

"Yeah... that won't work."

But before she could come up with a better idea, the hand grabbed the entire cup and pulled it back outside the coffee shop. Within seconds, it was gone. Jean was left staring at the empty table, wondering what the alien would do with the coffee.

Just as it was leaving, someone else entered.

"Hey, John—" Jean said.

But it wasn't John.

It was Clement.

"Miss Jean, it's so good to see your lovely face so early in the morning. Like a piece of sunshine, I must say."

"Spare me the crappy flattery," Jean snapped back. "Tell me what you want and get out of here."

"I'm sorry, but is this not a coffee shop?" Clement replied calmly. "I'm but a humble customer. But I certainly don't want to intrude. If you want me to leave, I will."

Jean sighed. He was technically right.

Why on earth... why him? Why now?

"Fine, just take a seat," she muttered.

"Well, why thank you," Clement said with a smirk on his face as he sat where the alien had been just a minute ago.

Then he rested his chin on his hand, elbow on the table. By the time Jean returned with his coffee, his face had turned grave as he stared blankly out of the window.

Outside the window, an alien hand, a different one, was holding a wand toy, making it spin in the air. Two cats were chasing it, jumping and trying to catch it. The hand was making the toy spin faster and faster, and the cats were having the time of their lives.

Jean watched the scene for a moment, then turned back to Clement. Clement was deep in thought and visibly troubled.

"Jean, I'm going to be real with you," he started after a long silence. "I know you hate me. And that's fine, all things considered. But I'm not going to lie to you—at least not under these circumstances. There are moments when lying benefits me, and moments when it doesn't. Right now, my only goal is to figure out the situation we're in."

He paused, then turned to face Jean.

"I want to return to the real world."

"Real world?" Jean asked sharply. "We've been invaded and everyone is gone! This is the real world!"

Clement laughed. A nervous laugh. Very much unlike the version she knew of him—the one that was always in control and one step ahead.

"So you haven't realized yet?" He shook his head. "You've never been curious by nature. Always taking the system for granted. But it's more than that. It's always been."

Jean grunted, visibly dissatisfied.

"You arrive here and the first thing you do is open a café?" Clement continued. "How does that make any sense? Sure, I can tell why the other guy wants to stay here. He's broke and this is the only place where he can find food and shelter. But you? Why don't you miss your old life?"

Jean turned away, unwilling to meet his gaze.

"I hit a soft spot, did I?" Clement added, his voice sounding almost scornful. "You had a good life and a good position, Jean. You were one of the richest people in town. I fail to understand why you hated your own life so much. So much so, that you treat this weird new world as home."

As they talked, two curious hands entered the café, carrying boxes full of watercolor tubes and other drawing supplies. They circled around the table, making playful movements.

Neither Jean nor Clement bothered to look at them. They were used to it.

"If you wanted to open a café," Clement continued, "you could have done so at any time in the real world. You are competent and resourceful. That's why I needed you."

"Needed me?" Jean repeated, her expression horrified, as she took a step back. "You used me like some pawn!"

"I know, I know," Clement said quickly. "But it's a bit late to dwell on that, isn't it? Right now, we have bigger issues, and you're the only one that can help me. Anyway, enough for now—that artist is heading here. We should continue this discussion some other time."