The second photograph showed Nina wearing loose black trousers, white trainers, plus a cropped blue jacket over a plain shirt. Her hair had been tied high enough for the market heat, while the red dress hung behind her inside the changing room. She looked less dramatic and more prepared to walk beside me for several hours.
{Nina: What if this version wants to come instead?}
My first reply praised both outfits, which would answer a question she had deliberately avoided asking. The second tried explaining that the market paths became muddy after rain. I deleted each response before honesty became another logistics report that evening.
{Kofi: Then I want the version who enjoys being there. The red dress is distracting, but you do not owe our date a costume.}
I noticed the word date only after sending, though Nina had called Saturday coffee when leaving herself room. My message had promoted it through either courage or accidental ambition today. The typing indicator appeared before I could prepare a correction that evening.
{Nina: You called it a date.}
{Kofi: I noticed after the message became legally binding.}
{Nina: Interesting. We should discuss your uncontrolled honesty problem tomorrow.}
The response neither accepted nor rejected the label, leaving my mistake alive until Wednesday. I could ask through text and receive an answer immediately, but Nina deserved more than a clarification squeezed between outfit photographs. I placed the phone down before another sentence escaped around us both.
[Communication opportunity detected.]
[No quest issued. You already know what must be asked.]
The System's restraint felt increasingly personal, though the line remained correct there. Saturday had become a date inside my planning long before I named it to Nina. Waiting for her to infer my intention would let me enjoy romance without risking a direct refusal.
Her next message arrived with a close photograph of the red fabric returning to its hanger. Olica's hand appeared beside it holding the price tag between two accusing fingers. Nina added no explanation before sending another picture before anything else changed.
{Nina: The dramatic version also costs enough to damage responsible journalism. Blue jacket wins.}
{Kofi: Responsible journalism looks dangerously good in practical shoes.}
{Nina: Better. You may retain limited compliment privileges.}
The exchange warmed my entire evening because attraction had remained visible without becoming a command. Nina knew I wanted the dress, yet she also knew I preferred her comfort over receiving that image in person. Both truths mattered inside the uneasy silence that continued surrounding both of us.
Wednesday began with a follow-up appointment that removed the final dressing from my side. The scar looked angrier than the pain felt, extending beneath my ribs in a line I had avoided studying. My doctor approved longer walks while warning that fatigue would remain inconsistent.
"Street market on Saturday," I said, giving him the plan because secrecy could not improve medical advice.
"How long?" Doctor Mensi asked, pressing carefully near the healing tissue while I watched his hands.
"Two hours planned, with cafés, transport, plus an early exit available," I replied, grateful Conversation Planning had forced specifics.
"Three hours including travel," he corrected, writing the limit before handing me the paper, "sit every forty minutes and leave when pain reaches five."
I accepted the conditions without bargaining, then messaged Nina the updated boundary from the clinic corridor. She replied with a thumbs-up plus a demand that I stop using the phrase medical restriction like an insult. By lunchtime, the date label remained our only unresolved subject that evening.
I found Nina outside the media building with a camera strap across her chest. She wore the blue jacket from the photograph, though the black trousers had been replaced by jeans plus boots designed for campus rather than Saturday. Seeing the chosen clothing in motion made yesterday's answer feel more intimate.
"You are evaluating practical footwear," she said, stopping beside the bench where I waited.
"I am appreciating the democratic process that defeated the red dress," I replied, standing once she reached me.
"The dress lost to price and ventilation," Nina said, adjusting the camera against her side, "your vote was advisory."
"A responsible government," I told her, following when she pointed toward the quieter garden path.
We had twenty minutes before her interview, which made the conversation possible without allowing indefinite postponement. Nina walked at my pace without visibly shortening her stride around me. She waited through the first corner before raising the subject herself there.
"Which version did you expect?" she asked, looking forward while students crossed the path ahead.
"Honestly?" I said, feeling the automatic preparation begin despite the obvious requirement.
"That would support the theme," Nina replied, glancing toward me as one eyebrow lifted.
I considered saying the fashionable version because that was how she appeared across campus. The hospital had shown me tired Nina, frightened Nina, commanding Nina, plus the woman who checked locked doors inside unfamiliar apartments. Expecting one version would reduce everything I had already learned that evening.
"I expected you to look beautiful," I said, allowing desire into the answer before refining it, "and I worried you would dress for whatever reaction you thought I wanted."
Nina slowed near an empty planter, making me stop rather than pass her. Her expression remained unreadable for several seconds, though no System appeared to translate it. I let the answer stand without adding praise designed to soften the concern.
"Why would that worry you?" she asked, shifting the camera strap higher on her shoulder.
"Because you said people expect you to remain agreeable," I replied, remembering dinner rather than claiming insight, "I do not want my attraction added to that pressure."
"You were still attracted to the dress," she said, leaving the statement halfway between question and challenge.
"Painfully," I admitted, meeting her eyes after one failed attempt to look casual.
Her laugh crossed the garden before she covered it with one hand. The sound removed solemnity without dismissing the answer inside the room nearby. Nina stepped closer when another group needed the path, leaving our shoulders nearly aligned.
"I was testing you," she said, lowering her voice after the students moved beyond us, "which was not entirely fair."
"What result failed?" I asked, resisting the temptation to celebrate before understanding the test.
"If you demanded the dress, Saturday would become an audition," Nina replied, touching the edge of her jacket, "if you pretended not to care, I would wonder whether you only liked an idea of being respectful."
The narrow space between those answers explained why my first drafts had felt false. Attraction and respect were not opposing positions during the next uncertain moment nearby. Nina wanted to be desired without becoming responsible for maintaining a version chosen by somebody else.
"So limited compliment privileges remain?" I asked, allowing humor after the meaning had landed.
"Probationary," she replied, touching two fingers briefly against my shirt collar, "though this version of you is improving."
The gesture sent enough heat through me that my prepared response disappeared. Nina noticed, then stepped back with satisfaction that required no System confirmation. She had chosen the reaction rather than merely receiving mine that evening.
"Would you have been disappointed if I wore something plain?" Nina asked, keeping her fingers near my collar without touching again.
"A little, if plain meant you stopped enjoying the choice," I replied, separating clothing from the amount of skin involved, "not because Saturday requires a particular view."
Nina nodded slowly, then admitted the red dress made her feel powerful until she imagined walking through the crowded market. She wanted to wear it somewhere with music, controlled lighting, plus fewer opportunities for street dust. The desire belonged to her even though my attention had helped sharpen it.
"Then save it for a place where you want the reaction," I said, allowing myself to picture that future without demanding it.
"You are assuming another date," she replied, though the challenge arrived beside a visible smile.
"I am hoping for one," I corrected, refusing to disguise the preference behind certainty.
The difference pleased her because she stepped close enough for the blue jacket to brush my arm. She told me that wanting to be desired did not make every outfit an invitation, which sounded obvious until I examined how often strangers treated clothing like advance consent. I repeated the important distinction without turning the conversation into an unnecessary lecture.
"Good," Nina said, checking the time before her interview, "you may someday witness the red dress outside a commercial environment."
The promise carried no date, venue, or guarantee, yet my mind attempted to reserve all three. I dismissed the imaginary calendar and returned to the woman standing in front of me. Her chosen blue jacket already contained enough anticipation for one difficult morning.
[Empathy milestone recorded: attraction expressed without erasing another person's preference.]
[Empathy: 37 → 39]
The two-point increase appeared only after Nina resumed walking around us both. I told her because the receipt contained nothing private about her again. She nodded, then warned that understanding one outfit did not qualify me to interpret women professionally.
"I will keep my research amateur," I said, matching her turn toward the media building.
"Your sample size remains one complicated journalist," Nina replied, smiling toward the entrance.
We reached the doors with six minutes remaining before her interview quietly. The date label waited inside every pause, more obvious after my message than before. I almost let time remove the choice until Nina placed one hand against the door.
"Tomorrow," I said, stopping her before the building swallowed the conversation, "can we meet before class?"
"For uncontrolled honesty?" she asked, keeping the door closed while another student used the opposite side.
"Controlled enough to say properly," I replied, refusing to spend the answer through implication again.
Nina studied my face, then nodded before opening the door for now. She did not rescue me by naming what she expected around me. The decision remained mine until tomorrow morning before the moment moved forward again.
I watched her enter the building wearing the version she had chosen for an ordinary Wednesday. The blue jacket looked better than the red dress because I now knew why it had won. Saturday needed the same clarity from me for reasons I understood much later.
Before returning to campus, I opened my calendar and changed the event title. `Coffee with Nina` became `Ask Nina whether Saturday is a date`, with no question mark available for hiding.