Page 43 of Invisible Bars
“I… I love it,” I said. “It’s my favorite.”
“Well, since you couldn’t get any then, I figured I owed you a cup,” he said it like it was no big deal.
But it was.
“Thank you.”
“Welcome.”
Imanio still didn’t look at me. It was like he was actively avoiding being seen as a decent man. It wasalmostcute.
“But go ahead and eat,” he added with a flick of his wrist. “It’s been days.”
That was true.
I wrapped my hands around the warm mug first, taking a few cautious sips. It tasted fresher, richer—like the mint leaves were handpicked by bougie monks in a serene garden of generational wealth. Then I reached for the food. My first few bites were hesitant, like my body didn’t trust it yet. But after the third bite? I blacked out… or maybe the hunger took over. Either way, I inhaled it. My fork barely hit the plate before I was loading it back up again.
“Slow down. There’s more where that came from,” Imanio said.
I paused mid-chew, suddenly aware of how aggressively I was eating. I felt my cheeks heat.
“I smell betrayal and burnt toast! If they offer you pineapple pizza, say no! It’s a trap!” I blurted without warning.
Imanio—like the staff—didn’t pay me any mind. However, I saw the faintest tug in his cheek. He pretended to be focused on whatever was on his screen, but I saw the twitch.
We sat in silence for a few minutes after that, with only the clink of our forks and the soft shuffle of staff moving through the house. The quiet wasn’t awkward; it was thick with unspoken questions, like we were both waiting for the other to talk first.
Then, with a shaky breath and a tic twitch running up my neck, I pushed my plate slightly forward and said, “Can… can we talk?Popcorn and policies!” I yelled, my hand smacking the table harder than I meant to.
I winced, more from embarrassment than pain.
Without directly answering me, Imanio calmly turned his head and told his staff, “I need privacy to talk to Naji.”
They immediately paused what they were doing and then filed out quietly and professionally like a well-oiled machine—no eye rolls, no whispers… just quick nods and respectful distance. It unnerved me… a little.
I studied Imanio as the room cleared, trying to read him the way I’d try to read a warning label.
What kind of boss is he? Does he demand their respect through fear or admiration? Is he secretly cruel or just cold?
I got nothing. His expression remained unreadable.
No smirk. No warmth. Just those sharp, heavy-lidded eyes—dark and assessing.
It was like he could cut a lie out of someone with a stare.
“You have the floor,” Imanio said, finally placing his phone down.
His focus shifted entirely to me, and just like that, the nerves returned—creeping up my spine like a cold hand.
“First… why… why are they so nice to me?Turnips and court dates!”I yelped mid-sentence.
My neck jerked to the side, and my lips twisted. I pressed my palm to my chest to calm my breathing.
“Y-Your staff?” I finished, clarifying.
Imanio’s brow ticked up. “What do you mean, why they’re nice to you? Do you want them to bemeanto you?”
“Most s-strangers are,” I muttered, lowering my head like I was trying to sink beneath the table.
