“Hey, how are you?” Elijah inquired.

To Bea these words conveyed an exquisite, though unexpected, emotion. There was delight in hearing them—imagine, Elijah, taking pause in his steps to converse with the likes of her!—and yet their mundanity caused her to wonder. Was he merely being courteous, or did he mean the question genuinely? And if it was genuine, to what extent? Should she respond that she was fine, it would not be accurate; she did not want to depart from the truth, though for that matter, it might be even worse to come across as too melancholy.

It was truly a shame (she thought), that words could be arranged to form most artful phrases, yet their use was wasted on coded small talk, their letters abbreviated to nonsense, arranged into seemingly shorter and shorter acronyms every few weeks. Yes, words’ meanings were being diluted, by her generation’s circumstances or its constituents she couldn’t be sure; either way, it troubled her. No doubt the issue was overdue a remedy, though, despite her efforts, she struggled to formulate one herself.

She turned to him and smiled.

“I’m good,” she said.