Mindset

Noor chose the café because the soup was cheap and because nobody there tried to ask him about his day. He had forty minutes before an appointment on the other side of town and wanted to spend thirty-eight of them with his coat still on.

The room was full. A man with a laptop had spread himself over a table for four; two women were taking photographs of a sandwich. Noor joined the short queue beneath the menu and asked for lentil soup and water.

The owner looked up from the till.

"Oh," she said. "I wondered if you would come back."

Noor glanced behind him. There was nobody.

"We kept the window table free," she said. "And don’t worry about the old price."

He said, "That’s kind," because it was easier than asking what she meant.

At the window table, a folded napkin had been placed beside a small vase with one carnation in it. The owner brought the soup herself and stood a moment longer than seemed required.

"We adjusted it," she said. "Less salt this time."

Noor lifted the spoon. "It looks good."

"You’ll tell us if it isn’t."

He nodded, then ate quickly enough to burn his tongue. The soup was fine. It might even have been better than fine, but he could not work out what sort of answer was expected of him.

When the owner moved to the kitchen, Noor checked the time. He carried the bowl to the counter and asked the student stacking glasses if she could put the rest into a paper container. She did, sliding a card terminal toward him without looking up. Noor tapped it, took the warm bag, and left before the owner returned with the bread basket.

At the crossing, Noor adjusted the warm bag against his coat and crossed when the light changed.