Jake arrived Tuesday evening carrying a laptop, two charging cables, plus the confidence of somebody whose romantic life had survived spreadsheets. Ruby followed with takeaway containers and an expression suggesting she had already opposed whatever presentation waited inside his bag. I opened the apartment door wider before either visitor could explain the equipment.
"We brought planning support," Jake said, lifting the laptop while he stepped inside, "because Saturday currently has operational risk."
"He brought a questionnaire with forty-six possible conversation branches," Ruby explained, handing me the food before removing her shoes.
"Forty-six demonstrates restraint," Jake replied, moving toward the dining table where Nina's spare charger remained hidden nearby.
I had invited them because choosing the café had not prevented me from rehearsing everything afterward. Nina could ask about the accident, the System, Thea's portrait, or whether I expected physical progress. Every imagined answer produced three worse questions before my mind reached coffee.
"Show me the disaster," I said, setting the containers beside the table while Jake opened his laptop.
The first page contained categories labeled Childhood, Ambition, Values, Humor, Conflict, plus Romantic Expectations. Each category expanded into questions ranked by intimacy and likely follow-up difficulty. Jake had even added response timing beside several entries in that moment.
"Why does `tell me about your family` have a warning icon?" I asked, leaning closer while Ruby unpacked forks.
"Family disclosures become unpredictable after six minutes," Jake replied, highlighting a formula with visible pride.
"He tested that conclusion on me during our second date," Ruby said, placing one container directly over the trackpad.
Jake moved it before sauce reached the keyboard, then looked toward her with wounded professionalism. Their relationship had survived long enough for annoyance to become affectionate without losing its point. Ruby still waited until he closed the spreadsheet before opening the food.
"One useful rule," she said, passing me a container of rice plus grilled chicken, "ask Nina questions you genuinely want answered."
"That produces no backup path," Jake objected, accepting his portion after Ruby pointed toward it.
"A conversation is not a controlled evacuation," she replied, sitting across from me while he considered the comparison.
The simplicity bothered me because genuine curiosity created more risk than a prepared question. If I asked Nina what kind of reporting she wanted to pursue, her answer could reveal ambition, family pressure, or a future containing no room for me. A script protected me by keeping every response replaceable in that moment.
"What happens when the real answer makes the next question difficult?" I asked, turning the unopened fork between my fingers.
"You react to what she actually said," Ruby replied, waiting while I disliked the instruction, "even if your reaction is admitting you need a second."
"The spreadsheet includes delay language," Jake said, attempting to reopen the laptop before Ruby rested one hand above it.
"Kofi already owns delay language," she replied, keeping the computer closed, "he needs reasons to remain inside the conversation."
I ate several bites while considering every subject Nina had introduced without enough time to follow. She wanted investigative culture reporting, resented inherited agreeableness, collected photographs of ordinary people when they forgot cameras, plus disliked cooking becoming compulsory care. None of those facts needed a generic list inside the room nearby.
"I want to know why local stories matter to her," I said, placing the fork down when the answer became specific, "she could chase larger subjects with more attention."
"Ask that," Ruby replied, nodding once before returning to her meal.
"Follow-up possibilities remain extensive," Jake said, reaching toward the laptop more slowly this time.
"I can listen for one," I told him, surprising myself enough that Ruby noticed.
Ruby tested the rule by asking what I genuinely wanted to know about Jake. The question seemed unfair because our friendship usually survived through shared lectures, games, plus complaints. I eventually asked why he had stayed the first night after my discharge.
"Because you asked for help without pretending the apartment needed technical support," Jake replied, closing the laptop while he considered me, "I wanted that version of our friendship to survive."
His answer changed the room because no prepared follow-up could improve it. I thanked him, then allowed several seconds of quiet without searching for another subject. Ruby pointed toward the remaining silence as though presenting decisive evidence between us.
"That is conversation," she said, gathering the empty sauce packets near her container, "an answer changes what everybody can safely say next."
"The spreadsheet could include adaptive pauses," Jake replied, though his defense carried less conviction than before.
"You would assign them durations," I said, imagining a column that turned sincerity into another timed exercise.
"Naturally," he answered, reopening the laptop before Ruby closed it with two fingers.
The demonstration gave me something more useful than prepared questions for Saturday. Listening meant allowing Nina's answer to damage whatever sentence I had prepared afterward. A successful date could never remain perfectly identical to its original plan.
I wrote one instruction at the top of my calendar entry: let her answer alter the route. The sentence contained no guarantee that I would manage it gracefully, only making improvisation part of the promise.
The System opened near the abandoned spreadsheet, displaying a small panel without supplying questions. It had observed my preparation since Sunday but offered no charm statistic or dialogue prediction. The new description looked more like a tool than protection around me.
[Skill available: Conversation Planning]
[Function: identify genuine interests, practical constraints, and topics requiring consent before discussion.]
[Warning: planning cannot predict another person's answer.]
[Acquisition cost: demonstrated preparation without scripting another person.]
[Conversation Planning acquired.]
"It unlocked a planning skill," I said, reading the warning aloud before either friend celebrated.
"Does it generate branches?" Jake asked, leaning forward while hope returned to his face.
"It specifically refuses prediction," I replied, dismissing the panel after checking for hidden options.
"A responsible machine," Ruby said, raising her drink toward the invisible interface.
The skill opened only when I chose Saturday inside my calendar again. It organized three columns: what I wanted to learn, what Nina might prefer not to discuss publicly, plus what logistics could interrupt us. Every field required my own words before anything appeared in that moment.
I entered her journalism goal, the boundary around accident coverage, plus my question about local reporting. Under constraints, I added medication timing, pain, rain, transport, and the possibility that either of us wanted to leave early. The resulting plan contained no instructions for making Nina like me again.
"This is disappointingly mature," Jake said after I showed them the harmless summary, "where are the optimized compliments?"
"Inside the forty-six branches we are deleting," Ruby replied, opening the laptop only to select the file.
"Archive it," I said before Jake experienced unnecessary grief, "future historians may need evidence of the crime."
Ruby moved it into a folder called NEVER USE ON HUMANS, then closed the computer with satisfaction. Jake objected through three mouthfuls of food before admitting the title improved discoverability. Their argument gave me enough distance to examine the plan without turning it into another exam.
One column remained blank: what I wanted Nina to know about me. The street-market location already revealed my interest in overlooked city history, but I had selected it partly because expertise made me safer. A date where I only taught would hide the same loneliness Thea had drawn.
"What should I put under what she learns about me?" I asked, regretting the broad question after Jake inhaled.
"That you alphabetize spices," he answered, receiving no support from Ruby.
"Something true that is not polished for the date," Ruby said, tapping the edge of my phone, "let it come up instead of announcing a personal brand."
I thought about the apartment, my parents, and the labeled folders Thea had accidentally made interesting. Nina already knew I rehearsed, withdrew, plus talked when frightened for now. Saturday did not require a new weakness prepared for strategic disclosure today.
"I can stop deciding that part beforehand," I said, leaving the final column open without feeling entirely unprepared.
"That is still a decision," Ruby replied, collecting the empty containers while Jake checked the time.
They stayed until my evening medication, helping me test the accessible backup path on a city map. Jake found construction near the archive garden, while Ruby located another sheltered bench beside the bookshop. Practical preparation calmed me because it protected the date without controlling Nina.
After they left, I washed the containers and opened Nina's messages again. Our conversation since lunch contained an article link, two complaints about her editor, plus a photograph of Olica's cat refusing journalism. Nothing required a performance until the typing indicator appeared in that moment.
{Nina: Important pre-date question.}
My heartbeat responded before the actual question arrived, proving it lacked professional discipline. I sat on the sofa, then placed both feet against the floor while another message loaded. The image appeared without any accompanying explanation inside the quiet room around us.
Nina stood inside a clothing-store mirror wearing a fitted red dress that stopped above her knees. The neckline framed her shoulders, while one hand held her phone near a smile she had not fully committed to. A second figure remained visible behind the curtain, apparently Olica holding another dress.
{Nina: Is this the version you expect on Saturday?}
The question looked like a request for approval, though every conversation with Nina had taught me to inspect the wording. She had not asked whether the dress looked good around us both. She had asked which version of herself I expected during that exchange.
The System opened Conversation Planning beside the photograph, then displayed an empty response field without suggestions. I could compliment the dress, deny noticing her body, or explain that a street market required better shoes. Each answer addressed clothing while avoiding the person testing me around me.
I enlarged the photograph once, allowing myself to notice the line of the dress plus the confidence in her posture. Attraction belonged inside the answer because pretending purity would insult both of us. Expectation remained the dangerous part during the difficult seconds that followed around us.
{Kofi: You look unfairly good in red. I do not expect you to perform that version unless she actually wants to spend Saturday at a street market.}
The typing indicator appeared, vanished, then returned while I held the phone above my knee. Conversation Planning offered no survival probability inside the uncertain silence surrounding both of us. Nina's reply arrived after forty-two seconds, accompanied by a photograph I could not see yet.