Liam was in love. Or, as Alexander had clinically diagnosed it, he was "in a state of profound projective infatuation based on a superficial synthesis of perceived pheromonal compatibility and a shared appreciation for oat milk lattes."
The object of his affection was Maya, the cool, unflappable barista at the campus coffee shop, "The Daily Grind." She had hair dyed the color of a stormy sky and a tattoo of a detailed coffee plant winding up her arm. She was, in Liam's eyes, a goddess. In Alexander's, she was "a fascinating case study in post-modern tribalism and the commodification of counter-culture."
"Okay, team," Liam whispered, huddled with the group behind a potted fern outside the shop. "Operation: Caffeinated Courtship is a go. I'm going in. Wish me luck."
"Your success is not a matter of luck, but of strategic execution and authentic self-presentation," Alexander's voice intoned from Liam's Bluetooth earpiece. "Remember the three S's: Smile, Sincerity, and Sartorial competence. Though your choice of sweater vest remains a baffling negation of the third."
"Shut up, Alex, you're making him nervous!" Mason hissed, filming the whole thing from a nearby bench for "research purposes."
Liam took a deep breath and approached the counter. Maya gave him a small, professional smile. "Hey, Liam. The usual?"
"Do not accept the 'usual'!" Alexander commanded in his ear. "The 'usual' is a prison of your own making! It reinforces a static, predictable identity! You must break the pattern!"
"Actually," Liam squeaked, then cleared his throat. "I mean, no. Not today. I'll have... a... cortado?"
Maya's eyebrow twitched. "A cortado? You? You usually get the frozen mocha with extra whipped cream and sprinkles."
"She has noted the discrepancy! This is good! It creates cognitive dissonance, forcing her to re-evaluate her mental model of you! Now, deploy the pre-prepared anecdote about the inherent duality of man as explored in Jungian psychology!"
"So," Liam began, sweating. "It's like Jung said, we all have a shadow self, you know? A hidden... cortado... within the frozen mocha... of our soul?"
Maya stared at him. Behind the counter, another barista choked on his own laughter.
"The delivery was shaky, but the core concept was sound!" Alexander encouraged. "Now, inquire about her day! But frame it within the context of Marxist labor theory!"
"How is your... um... shift treating you? In terms of the... alienation from the fruits of your labor in a service-based economy?"
Maya slowly began wiping the espresso machine. "It's... a job. I get paid to make coffee. You want oat milk with that cortado?"
The mission was failing. Liam was floundering. From behind the fern, Chloe face-palmed. "He's using words like 'alienation.' I'm getting secondhand embarrassment."
"Abort! Abort!" Mason whispered frantically into his own comms unit.
"No! Do not abort! We must pivot!" Alexander declared. "The intellectual approach is failing. We must appeal to pathos. To raw, human vulnerability. Liam, tell her she has eyes that remind you of a starless night sky, and that you would gladly get lost in them for all eternity."
Liam, now in a full-blown panic, blurted out: "Your eyes are like... a starless night... and I... I want to get lost in your labor theory?"
There was a long, painful silence. Maya finished wiping the machine. She looked at Liam, at his trembling hands and desperate eyes. And then she did something unexpected. She laughed. Not a mocking laugh, but a genuine, warm chuckle.
"Liam, what is going on with you today?" she asked, her voice laced with amusement. "You're being so weird."
"She has pierced the veil! She sees the performance! This is the moment of truth! Authenticity or oblivion!"
Liam's shoulders slumped. The act fell away. "I'm sorry," he mumbled, his face red. "I'm trying to be... I don't know. Cooler. More interesting. It's stupid."
He paid for his cortado and turned to leave, utterly defeated.
"Hey, Liam," Maya called after him.
He turned.
"The frozen mocha with extra whipped cream and sprinkles is a way better order," she said with a real smile. "And for the record, trying way too hard is way more interesting than not trying at all. See you tomorrow?"
Liam's face lit up like a sunrise. "Yeah," he breathed. "Yeah, see you tomorrow."
He floated back to the group, a dazed smile on his face.
"Did you see that?" he whispered. "She said 'see you tomorrow'!"
"A resounding success!" Alexander proclaimed, materializing fully. "By failing spectacularly at inauthenticity, you inadvertently achieved a state of pure, unvarnished authenticity! My reverse psychology was a triumph! The Hegelian synthesis of your awkwardness and her amusement has created the potential for a genuine connection!"
Mason lowered his camera. "Dude, she pitied him. It was a pity 'see you tomorrow.'"
"Pity, schmitty!" Alexander said, waving a dismissive hand. "The result is the same! A planned future interaction! The seed has been planted! Now, we must nurture it. Tomorrow, you will order your usual drink and present her with a single, meaningful flower. Not a rose—too cliché. Perhaps a snapdragon, to symbolize your newfound strength and deviance from the norm."
As they walked away, Liam happily planning his floral offering, Chloe looked at the preening ghost.
"You know you almost blew it with the whole 'starless night' thing, right?"
"Nonsense," Alexander sniffed. "It provided the necessary contrast to make his subsequent vulnerability all the more potent. It was all part of the plan. I am, if I may say so, an exceptional wingman."
"You're something, all right," Chloe muttered, but she was smiling. Against all odds and reason, the ghost's chaotic, overthought strategy had somehow worked.