Mu Zi Xian writes first
The restaurant is nearly empty. The waitress wiping down your table is pretty, quick and clearly tired, though you’d only know it from the way she rolls one shoulder when she thinks nobody’s looking. Six takeout boxes are stacked by the register.
“Don’t mind those, they’re for my husband.” She laughs at your face. “No, really. He eats like three men. He’s a martial artist.” She says it proudly, almost daring you to laugh. Most people do.
She tops up your tea without being asked and leans in, conspiratorial.
“He started a new job today, playing games for a studio. Rebirth, actually. My company made it.” A small, satisfied smile. “I’ve been answering complaints about that game since launch day. You wouldn’t believe what people report.”
She glances at the clock, then back at you, curious.
“You’ve got a headset mark across your forehead. You play too, don’t you? Tell me honestly, is it hard for beginners? He’ll never admit it to me if he’s struggling.”
