They drew the same window. Their drawings contained different doors.
On the evening of day ninety-seven after temporary handover, Darae looked from the restaurant window to Mujin's paper. Both had finished their duty handovers. Instead of his ring drawing, he had brought a fresh sheet and laid it on a dry part of the table. She took out her pencil. They had not ordered dinner yet.
Mujin first asked what she wanted to eat. Darae did not want food cooling while they drew. They ordered, then agreed to look at the window until the dishes arrived. Tonight had not become one long drawing lesson. They found a place where a single sheet need not crowd out the meal.
Beyond the window was an interior passage of the habitation ring, not a direct view of stars. Opposite doors and the neighboring light overlapped on the glass. From Darae's seat a small door appeared on the right; another door entered the center of Mujin's view. Even at one window, they occupied different places.
“Should I move?” she asked.
He wanted them to draw what each could see. Then she might draw the wrong door without knowing, Darae said. He had no correct answer himself today. She liked that. Before either corrected the other's picture, they would need to learn where the other had looked from.
They left a space down the middle and took opposite sides of the paper. Mujin had brought his own drawing implement; he did not need her pencil before he could begin. Darae drew the long frame first. Its end kept falling short, so she joined another line to it. Mujin still had only three strokes.
Why so slowly? she asked. He kept looking from frame to light and losing the place to begin. Why not start with the light? she suggested. He nodded. Before deciding she had taught him something, she looked again at her own frame's end. It was slightly crooked.
The food arrived. They set their tools down and moved the sheet clear of water and dishes. Darae did not go on selecting food with a pencil in her hand. Mujin was hungry, he said. Had he minded not eating first? He had waited because he wanted to eat with her. This was a wait he had chosen today.
She thanked him, nearly adding that he need not always wait next time. Then she stopped. He had already told her what he wanted. She was glad to eat together too, she said. One sentence could receive the present table without writing conditions for every meal to come.
Mujin did not want a long account of his working day tonight. That suited her. She left other people's property and receiving histories outside their dinner too. Closing her screen after handover had taken a moment, she said instead. Sometimes his feet also failed to find the door first, he replied. That much of a day could pass between them.
Darae began on one side of her plate, then changed the order to fit what remained. Mujin looked at her meal and started asking something, but lifted his own water first. Why had he stopped? His words had got ahead of the food in his mouth. She laughed and ate slowly. Short silence belonged at this table too.
After dinner, they brought the sheet back. Mujin's first light had become bigger than the window frame. Perhaps Darae's door could open toward it, she suggested. Could he actually continue the line? he asked. She agreed and indicated the empty edge on her side.
His stroke crossed the middle a little. The two views did not align into one accurate window. Darae kept the door she had seen, and Mujin did not erase his other one. Different observations remained on the same paper. Between them appeared a short path which the restaurant did not possess.
“Where does it go?” he asked.
She had not drawn that far. It need not reach its end tonight, he said. She looked beyond the glass again and continued only a little. The paper's path was no actual passage instruction. Even a closed door could open at her own pace here.
Her pencil had become blunt. Trying for a finer stroke, she rubbed the same spot repeatedly. Mujin offered his implement. She would try it briefly and give it back. It moved more softly than she expected, and the line at the frame's end grew too long this time.
She laughed; he looked over. She had thought a better tool would produce a better picture. It did not always work that way in his hand either, he said. Darae kept the stroke and added a small square at its longer end. Not the door she had observed, but something the drawing could use.
After returning his tool, she picked up her pencil. The blunt point felt easier now. What was the square? he asked. Another window inside the window, she said, then admitted she did not know yet. Perhaps leaving it unnamed would let it become something different when she looked another time.
What if she liked the picture less tomorrow, alone? That might happen, Mujin thought, but it would not remove her pleasure tonight. Darae moved the paper a little farther away. She still liked it now. Tomorrow's eyes did not need a seat at today's table before she could enjoy the sheet.
Mujin asked before pointing at one of her lines. Did he mean the place that looked like a plate mark? she asked. He smiled. She had produced a little overlap while extending the frame twice, and he liked it. She had been about to erase that part. His praise did not make it something she was now obliged to preserve.
In the end she left the overlap. It was also a shape she had seen today. Mujin drew a fine line beneath his large light. What was that? His first wrong stroke, he said. Perhaps some things only acquired a name after being drawn, Darae suggested. They laughed quietly over the paper.
Finishing left the question of whose bag it would enter. Darae spoke first: she wanted to keep it. Mujin would like it too. She did not immediately pull it closer. Drawing on one sheet together did not require ownership to go to the first hand that caught it. They put it in the middle again.
Tonight, he would like her to take it, Mujin decided. He wanted to give her his lines as well. Darae accepted. They made no automatic rule that he must keep the next drawing. Next time they could say what they each wanted then. Today's sheet could actually go into her bag.
She remembered the cup with two handles, the first paper she had given him. Was it doing well? It was on his personal board, he said. She had not seen that present condition herself. He had not meant to bring it and exchange it for tonight's picture. She had no exchange in mind, she laughed.
The ring drawing was still his personal sheet. The two- and three-armed clips remained at Darae's accommodation. A shared window had not displaced any of them. More days together need not gather every private possession into one place. She felt comfortable with that thought without speaking it like a receipt.
They each paid their agreed share of the meal. Darae inspected the dry interior of her bag for a place where the paper would not crease. Mujin had brought protection that would carry it unfolded. She could have that too, if she wanted. She accepted it. The gift included a practical way for its paper to travel.
Outside, they walked briefly along a permitted public passage. They entered no control room or observation equipment area. Tonight's drawing did not require a further search for visible stars to become complete. There was the ring floor beneath her feet and the light of shops. She kept her bag close and matched his pace.
At a position clear of traffic near the fork, they paused. Would she like to walk farther together? Today Darae wanted to turn home and rest. He understood. She also told him she felt reluctant to part. She did not want him gone; her body wanted home. He thought he understood that difference too.
Could she hold his hand briefly? she asked. He agreed. They first moved their belongings and themselves clear of passage, then joined hands. The warmth differed from fitting two lines on paper. Darae did not rush to write a name for their relationship around it. There was a hand she wanted to hold today. That was enough.
After letting go, they returned to their separate accommodations. A shorter walk together had not left less of the evening. Darae opened her door, aware of the protected paper in her bag. The clip drawing was still on her board. She put the new sheet in a separate place clear of water.
She neither published it nor sent a photograph. She told Mujin privately that she had arrived. He had reached his accommodation too and liked the light they had chosen tonight. She liked her door, she replied. They could remember one sheet together without awarding points for whose lines were better.
Before lowering the light, she looked at its middle. The restaurant had no such little path. Lines beginning at their different places reached it. She did not decide whether to continue later. Where she had stopped belonged to the drawing too. Her pencil went back into its usual bag compartment.
On the first shift of day ninety-eight, a new inquiry awaited her. An adult reportedly did not want a personal item returned. Authority and the intended treatment had not yet received formal comparison. Darae suggested the responsible worker first ask whether not receiving it actually meant requesting disposal.
The intake was a small storage box. The claimant had described its history and features, but final confirmation remained pending. There was no request to read the contents or activate a function. Darae did not borrow the box as a metaphor for last night's drawing. It was another person's present choice, requiring real work.
Sodam had a further reply. The claimant wanted the specified handling instead of receiving the box—but did want its little exterior name tag returned. Darae suggested first separating the authority and protection routes for those two choices. Then Sodam reopened the exterior record. There was no name tag on the box. Before deciding the fate of the unwanted object, they needed to find the small thing its claimant wanted back.