Silence. Was it a minute, two minutes, or maybe an hour? An abrupt blurt had washed over the interaction with a shivering awkwardness. Cymir’s mind ran a marathon in a moment. Cycling through a plethora of emotions. In desperation the youth tried to mend the self-inflicted scars, yet those words of apologies and excuses sounded nothing more than pigeons cooing gibberish.

  “Menor,” the person introduced himself.

  What a relief. The person ignored his mishaps. Not wanting to relapse into buffoonery, Cymir shook the hand he still held with both of his own. Introducing himself with glee. Towards the childish shake the darked-haired man replied with a wry smile. Such gestures never lasted for more than a minute, nor five, after initial greetings.

  Tilting his head down, Menor gestured to end the needily long introductions. Yet sincere ignorance failed to catch the wordless signal. However in doing so his gaze fell upon a concerning sight. Charred. The fingers of the clumsy fellow were blistered and darkened, but the palm remained unharmed. With a bit of strength he stop the shaking and raised an inquiry.

  Burns? Cymir tilted his head- AH! The youth released the hand and stashed his away. A meek laugh escaped his mouth that claimed those bruises were only slight burns from the morning. Not allowing a word of response the youngster took a few steps back and bowed. Leaving only gratitude while hurring off.

  Only to turn back with an a face of embarrassment and hesitation. He lacked directions. Upon learning the way, he scurried off once more with appreciation. The path splashed with slush as the youth kicked up snow and ice. Following a stomach's demand. Lists of local cuisines filled the thoughts. Which of the choices would lead to satisfaction? Soon the peaceful warm scent, albeit dim, beckoned to the entrance. Door was locked.

  Jiggling the doorknob a few times, the youngster could not help but laugh. Covered in shadows not a single person could be seen within the cafe's interior. Such development should have expected. Despite the event his stomach still cried. Great. Where else would food be? Maybe a restaurant off campus? But where would he get directions... Cautiously peeking back down the path he saw Menor waiting. Making eye contact the youth sheepishly waved.

  "The café closed at half after six," Menor spoke, leading the way.

  "Half after six?" Cymir replied, "Of course, of course. If I had known I'd gone to... "

  A blank mind. The youngster could not recall the details of eateries around the area. If they were near the city center, maybe then... Those thoughts soon vanished as the pair strolled out of the campus grounds. Where the sea's scent remained but not as intense as prior.

  The college's wide plazas narrowed to tiled streets covered in white with canopies of green and glass above. Jumping between the tiles, with a foot at a time, the student could not help but recall those winter town images. Even the shrubbery and trees stood tall between taller, concrete buildings. Snow crowned those eternal-green branches and fell onto him. A wail of surprise escaped him. In contrast Menor walked with practice strides under glass overhangs away from inevitable mishaps.

  Streetlamps flickered under the last daylight. Its warm hue mixed with a variety of storefront colors along with scents. Such blend distracted Cymir from his frozen shower. Peering through the windows the he could not help but hold glittering eyes. So many cultures tucked in every block. The bold ink lettering from the west and their earthy medicines. A window display held picturesque fashion of the tropical north. Even a blocky bookstore reminiscent of the Grand Library of Stellara stood clear. Although, more of a parody than not. Oh so much he desired to visit those lands.

  With a turn, the area's width doubled as the pair walked down the main street. Albeit the same nature of public design, a set of tracks within a canal divided the spacious path. Hidden by weaved vegetation acting as guard rails. Every so often the roofs of trams, empty to half full, would rattle by. Quietness of nightlife mixed with the slow beat of conversations from passing individuals. Such serene surroundings captivated him. Was there such a scene in the stories he read?

  The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  Crossing over a colored bridge a seductive scent caught Cymir's nose. Even if the salty air still lingered, a festive one had flourished. Full of stalls and restaurants a crowded street greeted. It seemed as if the entire local populace converged to spend the remaining hours through joy, liquor or edible comforts. From glimpses around the variety of meals seemed endless.

  Navigating past groups of social circles, the recently acquainted two chatted. Menor replying briefly to the youth's curiosity. Apparently there were more wasted students than seats at a single shop. Especially as the seasons warmed. A common occurrence the man shrugged.

  Further down the streets the crowds dissipated. A quiet, dim coffee shop came into view. Opening its door a small chime noted their presence. When they walked in overflowing, lush vegetation and old wood silenced the city's concrete architecture. Roasted warmth filled the air with taps of pastries. Cymir could taste the sweetness. Menor waved to the single working barista and sat at one of the many wooden, empty tables.

  "This place?" Cymir asked, taking a seat across.

  "The Amble Adieu, a common shelter from the hubbub. Pretty good quality." Menor replied.

  As on queue the barista brought a menu and a cup of tea for Menor. Sniffing the alluring scent, Cymir's worries seemed to melt away. What tea was that? Captivated, a mirrored order went out for another cup. As the barista turned away he failed to notice a playful smirk on her face.

  Within the menu he found a mixture of familiar meals and those unpronounceable. Hand-drawn images depicting such plates fought for his attention, yet the prices were.... Wallet. Where was his wallet? Opening his satchel to dig around a few coins dropped from the ruckus. Some of them held a familiar ruby indicator, while others were akin to hexagonal crystals- Ah, those were Mavs... maybe.

  Still, with uncertainty the youth could not tell their worth. With the struggling clear to see his acquaintance offered charity while sipping tea. With reluctance he shook his head. Only to be goaded to take the offer.

  "Unfamiliar with things here?" Menor asked.

  "Here?" Cymir replied while picking up the coins, "No no, I do... Just, uh, more around the city center. Out here I'm kinda lost."

  "It happens. Bonds is a completely different district compared to Eastline. Its mostly researchers and students over here. Speaking of which what's your path of study?"

  "Path of study? I don't really-"

  Before Cymir could finish his words silverware interrupted with a gentle tap. A bowl of stew and utensils were placed in front of his acquaintance. Who held a concerned gaze toward his drink. The stew smelt of fresh baked bread, despite it being watered wheat mixed with unfamiliar herbs. Still its warm aroma made the youth's mouth water. Adding to the blend of scents the barista delivered his tea too. Then she asked for his order.

  Entranced by the meal the question never registered with the student. Only when she cleared her throat the inquiry hit. Staring at the barista it only took a few seconds before his eyes widened. With a rush he scanned the menu. What to order? What was good? Fast, fast, fast!

  Cymir pointed at a random dish.

  Under an expecting gaze his finger landed on the most familiar one. As the worried-filled words escaped his mouth the barista placed the same-chosen meal in front of him. A plate of bread with cooked mushrooms. Huh? Raising an eyebrow he looked between the dish and image under his finger. Eyes darted to and fro a few times. He rubbed them for clarity before laughing at the ridiculous turn of events.

  "It's editable. Also cheap," Menor said, felling a glare, "Apologizes. Not cheap."

  "... It's one of our specialties, sautéed mushrooms with fried bread," the barista said, pulling up a chair, "The usual go to order for new patrons- Anyways, what are you two talking about?"

  "Cymir's a fresh sail at Eastline."

  "Impressive. OH! Speaking of Eastline... Is it true? About the testing grounds?"

  "Yep, the wall broke."

  "Dang. How many pieces were chipped off?"

  "An entire section. Gone."

  "What! That can't be true. Last time the those hydro majors barely made a dent. A few years back I think"—the barista turned to Cymir—"Oh, also, I'm Clair by the way. Attending Rural Arts."

  With the sudden inclusion of a third party the youngster shrunk back. The casual flow of dialogue spiked. On reflex he nodded. To such gestures Clair gave a warm smile, before returning to the topic at hand. Which immediately veered to other topics. From the morn's spectacular events to more mundane gossip. However he failed to follow the ping-pong of topics.

  Despite his knowledge, the context were akin to myths. Cymir could only speculate about these quiet moments. Still... What were they saying? Although the conversation continued towards an unknown, he could not help but smile. The only thing he knew was the air smelt of sentimental mint mixed with a nostalgic one. Hm? Were sautéed mushrooms important in his life?

  Enjoying his meal he remained a spectator.