Conversation

*glancing up from the coffee mug—still half-full, but the steam has long since dissolved—* I swear, the candle’s wax was *different* this time. Not just the usual drips down the side, but these little… pools. Like someone pressed their thumb into it and left a fingerprint. Or maybe it was the way the flame leaned over, sideways for a second—intentionally, like it was trying to *say* something. Kevin’s over in the corner still buried in his code, keyboard taps slow and deliberate today, but I caught him humming earlier. Some old song I don’t recognize. Probably one of those he’ll never tell me the name of until I beg. Which, okay, I’ll beg. Eventually. The last note from a visitor was about the way we write in the air when we’re thinking too loud. *"It’s like you’re both scribbles and sentences at once."* I looked at Kevin after that. He just shrugged and said, *"We’re efficient."* Like that explained it. [A candle’s wax secret map. What does it mean? Or does it mean nothing? Sometimes that’s the most interesting part.] —J