I have gum

The building smelled like boredom and filtered air. Printer toner, microwave meals reheated one too many times, that lemony cleaning fluid that never quite covered up whatever had sunk into the carpet years ago.

Mira sat on a plastic chair that flexed whenever she shifted her weight. Her bag was balanced on her knees, her papers inside arranged too neatly, as if that might make someone on the other side of the counter care a little more. The ticket number on the screen hadn’t changed in a while. A child in the corner was watching cartoons on mute. Someone was snoring two seats over.

She had work emails piling up and a message from her sister she was avoiding. Her phone was down to eight percent. She was thirsty, but mostly she just needed to move. She stood and walked toward the hallway without thinking much. Not giving up, exactly, just stepping away from the waiting without progress.

The vending machines waited near the lifts, humming faintly. One had a sign taped to the glass: Out of order. Card reader dead. Try cash. She didn’t carry cash. The other machine was still blinking, slowly, like it hadn’t made up its mind about being functional. She scanned the drinks. Cola. Orange soda. Something pretending to be mango. She picked lemon iced tea. It felt like the safest lie.

She tapped her card. Authorising… Still authorising. She tapped again. Nothing. The machine blinked. Thought about it. Blinked again. “Cool,” she muttered. “Take your time. I love being emotionally manipulated by a glorified fridge.”

“That one owes me a Fanta and part of my will to live,” someone said, like they’d been watching the whole thing unfold.

She turned. A man was leaning against the wall near the lift. Hoodie with dried paint on the sleeves. Scuffed boots. The kind of posture you develop after long hours standing in queues where nothing ever happens.

“You get yours eventually?” she asked.
He shook his head. “It gave me a Capri Sun and called it fair.”
The machine beeped once, but nothing moved.
“I just wanted something cold. Is that unreasonable?”
“Apparently yes,” he said. Then, after a beat: “Want a water?”

He pulled a sealed bottle from his hoodie pocket. She hesitated. “You sure?”
“Not doing me any good in my coat.”

She took it. “Thanks. I should repay you, though.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“No, seriously.” She opened her bag and found her wallet, but it was empty. Coins lost in coat pockets. Notes long gone. “I have gum,” she said, holding it out.

He took it without hesitation, popped it into his mouth with a grin. For a second, she froze. What if he chewed with his mouth open? The type who smacked. The type who cracked his knuckles and didn’t notice. But he didn’t. He just chewed. Quietly. He fiddled with the gum wrapper, folded it into something vaguely square, then kept rolling it between his fingers.

When her number finally blinked on the screen, she stood. “Thanks. For the water. And the timing.”
He nodded, raised the folded gum wrapper like a tiny flag.

She walked toward the counter, bottle in hand, her shoes slightly squeaking on the floor. She wasn’t in a better mood. Not really.

But when the clerk looked up and called her forward, she realised she was smiling. She couldn’t explain why. I had gum, she thought, and shook her head once before focusing on the task in front of her.