"I was trying to capture how unexpectedly endearing?—"
"Endearing." The word comes out flat. "For entertainment purposes."
"No, not entertainment. Community building. Showing people that neighbor conflicts can become friendships when both parties approach them with good intentions."
"By sharing details I told you in confidence."
"I didn't think?—"
"No. You didn't think." He picks up his dinner bag. "You thought about content creation. About viral potential.About career advancement through documenting my cultural differences for public consumption."
Each accusation hits accurately because they're not entirely wrong. Iwasexcited about the engagement numbers. Ididfeel proud when the BuzzFeed editor called. Iwasthinking about how this kind of viral success could help my freelance career.
"That's not why I wrote it."
"What was your motivation then?"
"I wanted to document something real. Something beautiful about how people can find connection across cultural differences when they approach each other with curiosity instead of hostility."
"By turning my private vulnerabilities into your public success story."
"I was trying to show that you're more than just sound complaints and cultural preservation projects. That you're complex and interesting and worth knowing."
"Worth knowing as entertainment content."
The accusation stings because it contains enough truth to hurt. Ifoundhis moments endearing in ways that translated well to blog format. Ienjoyedcrafting descriptions that captured his unexpected combinations with his intimidating appearance, gentle manner, academic precision, social awkwardness.
But reducing our friendship to content creation feels like missing the point entirely.
"I fucked up," I say finally. "I should have asked permission. I should have considered how it would feel to have strangers commenting on your personal moments. I was so excited about documenting positive neighbor relationships that I forgot to treat you like a person instead of a story."
Ursak studies me for a long moment, expression unreadable.
"The phrase 'stone warms slow,'" he says eventually.
"Yes?"
"Where did you learn that?"
"I thought you mentioned it? During our conversation? It felt familiar but I wasn't sure if I was remembering correctly."
"It's an orcish idiom. It means that trust develops gradually, through consistent positive interaction rather than dramatic gestures. It also means that once trust is established, it's difficult to break."
Oh.
"I've never shared that phrase with humans before. It doesn't translate well to cultures that value immediate emotional expression over patient relationship building."
"I used it wrong."
"You used it perfectly. Which suggests you understand the concept even if you don't know the cultural context."
I don't know what to say to that. The lobby feels too bright, too exposed for this conversation that seems to be heading somewhere I can't predict.
"The blog post," Ursak continues. "It captures accurate details. Your observations about cross-cultural communication challenges are perceptive. Your suggestions for community building through individual relationship investment are sound."
"But?"
"But sharing someone's vulnerable moments without permission violates the trust necessary for 'stone warms slow' to function."
