I head back downstairs with two bowls of cooling stew and the distinct feeling that I've dodged some kind of bullet, though I'm not sure whether that's relief or disappointment.
Back home, I eat experimental vegan stew while scrolling through my laptop and trying to focus on deadline-driven productivity instead of analyzing every detail of upstairs conversations. The stew tastes better than expected, rich and satisfying without requiring barbecue sauce or meat-based improvements.
See? You don't need neighbors. You don't need complications. You need word counts and blog deadlines and the simple satisfaction of routine productivity.
But even as I type variations on neighbor relations and conflict resolution strategies, part of my brain keeps replaying Ursak's careful pronunciation of "food diplomacy" and the way his face lit up when I suggested practical translation solutions.
Intelligence and passion and cultural curiosity wrapped in formal vocabulary and delivered with courtesy that feels like poetry.
Dangerous territory, Maya.
I save the blog draft and close the laptop. Productivity: mediocre. Concentration: compromised. Emotional state: confused in ways that require caffeine and possibly emergency phone consultation with friends who understand dating complexities better than I do.
But first, I package the leftover stew for future consumption and clean the kitchen while indie folk provides protectivebackground noise against thoughts about attractive neighbors and cultural preservation projects and whatever constitutes appropriate boundaries between people who started as complaining and evolved into something I can't quite define.
The afternoon stretches ahead with deadlines and routine productivity demands, but everything feels slightly off-kilter, as if morning conversations and translation consultations have shifted familiar patterns in ways I haven't fully processed.
Some disruptions, apparently, create ripple effects that extend far beyond their original scope.
Fascinating and terrifying.
I brew fresh coffee and settle back at my laptop, determined to salvage something productive from this deadline-driven day while suppressing thoughts about food diplomacy and cultural bridge-building and whatever happens when intellectual curiosity meets genuine attraction in narrow hallway spaces.
Focus. Write. Meet deadlines. Maintain routine.
Ignore the part of my brain that keeps wondering what Ursak thought about my translation suggestions and whether cultural preservation projects require ongoing consultation from neighbors who happen to possess relevant professional expertise.
One conversation at a time, Maya.
One day at a time.
One carefully maintained boundary at a time.
CHAPTER 6
URSAK
The muffins weigh heavy in my messenger bag as I approach the café Maya mentioned during our hallway encounter. Mixed-grain varieties from the campus bakery: cranberry-walnut, blueberry-oat, and something the student baker calledancient grains with modern attitude. Cultural bridge-building through carbohydrate diplomacy seemed logical at six this morning.
Now, standing outside the glass doors watching humans navigate complicated coffee rituals, the gesture feels presumptuous.
What if she considers unsolicited baked goods an invasion of personal space?
What if café visits require advance scheduling protocols I don't understand?
What if she's not even here?
Through the window, I spot her familiar silhouette at a corner table, laptop open, coffee cup positioned precisely within arm's reach. Same routine she described during our kitchen conversation. Reliability in small rituals, something I understand completely.
The door chime announces my entrance with delicate precision that makes me acutely aware of my footsteps on polished concrete. Every surface reflects sound differently here: tile, wood, metal fixtures creating acoustic layers that would fascinate linguistics students studying urban phonetic environments.
Maya glances up from her screen, recognition flickering across her features followed by something that might be surprise or mild alarm.
"Ursak?"
"Good morning." I navigate between closely-spaced tables toward her corner sanctuary. "I hope I'm not interrupting deadline-focused productivity."
"No, just... didn't expect to see you here."
