Jesse had sat alone at lunch for three months.
Not because he was unfriendly. Not because people disliked him. Just because no one had quite got around to asking, and he hadn't quite got around to asking either, and the gap had grown until sitting alone felt like his permanent state.
He had a system. Sit at the end of a long table. Read. Don't make eye contact. Seem busy.
Then Amara sat down opposite him.
Not next to him — opposite. She put her tray down and looked at him directly.
"You're always reading at lunch," she said.
He tensed. "Yes."
"What are you reading?"
He showed her the cover. She looked at it seriously.
"Is it good?"
"Very."
She nodded. She ate. She didn't say anything else for a while, but she also didn't leave.
After ten minutes of comfortable silence, she said, "Same book tomorrow or a different one?"
Jesse thought about it. "Probably finished by tomorrow."
"Bring the next one," she said. "I'll bring mine."
They sat in companionable reading silence for the rest of lunch.
It was, Jesse reflected, the best kind of company. The kind that doesn't demand anything.