August:Are you okay? It’s been over an hour and a half since I sent you an email, and I know that would be perfectly normal for most people, but you are not most people, and you’ve never taken more than ten minutes to reply to any of my emails in the past three years. I apologize if I’m out of line, but I just want to make sure you’re all right.
Blowing out a breath, I look at the dormant desktop computer beyond the foot of my casket and hope that August has her laptop with her tonight. I’m pretty sure I saw her grab it earlier, but who knows if she has it open to her work account right now or not…
Regardless, I reply:
Me:Forgive me my uncharacteristic silence these past few days. After your latest anime recommendation,I Was Reincarnated as the 7th Prince so I Can Take My Time Perfecting My Magic Ability, I was forced to take the weekend off. That is to say, it has taken me this long to both read and type the title.
Me:I am otherwise quite well, and your worry is by no means out of line. I do consider us to be friends, and, given how swiftly we normally email back and forth, I am rather surprised it’s taken us this long to breach the sanctity of an instant message.
Me:May we manage to find time in between our future (highly professional, if HR asks) conversations to squeeze in a modicum of work.
Hopefully she hasn’t been too worried and accepts that even workaholics like me need a weekend to log out once every three years or so. I don’t know what I’d say if she presses for more information. Suggesting I’ve been MIA because I’m inthe process of obtaining a wife feels unprofessional at best and incriminating at worst.
Shifting gears, I head to my company’s delegation program and begin assessing which tasks I can address before bed tonight.
I don’t get far before a message tone alerts me.
August:GIRL, YOU’RE ALIVE!
I find myself blinking at the screen and muting my sound.
August’s typing bubbles blur in the bottom of the chat while I stare, directly, atgirl.
Girl.
August…thinks I’m a girl?
That…
Given her position in Mont Business, I suppose it makes sense that my gender wouldn’t have come up for her just like hers hadn’t for me. Not to mention thatAliisn’t exactly an inherently masculine name, even if it is what I go by.
I…
I can’t believe this.
She thinks I’m a girl, just like I thought she was a boy.
Closing my hand into a fist, I press my knuckles to my mouth and battle to contain myself. This is hilarious. We really were made for each other, weren’t we?
Should I correct her? Should I not?
Before I can decide, she sends another message:
August:I’ve been worried sick thinking that you died before witnessing the greatness of the Anime That Shall No Longer Be Named Because You Read So Slow and Certainly Not Because I Don’t Remember It or Want to Type It Out Myself!
Me:One moment, please, this new title will also take several days to get through.
August:This is devastating news.
Me:Fear not. I have no intention to begin such a daunting task on the weekend.
August:Oh good. I could not bear the idea of losing you again so soon. You’re supporting a rough thirty percent of my mental health, you know. It’s in my work agreement, under benefits.
She’s so cute.
What a dilemma.
August doesn’t strike me as the type of woman who would mind not being told a plot point, so long as the decision feeds the story. If my role isenemyon the brink ofvillain—according to everything we’ve thus far discussed—keeping my cards close to my chest makes enough sense. I could even use this misunderstanding to give myself more of an edge. Depending on howwickedshe wants her enemy to be, having access to inside information through a means she’d be less inclined to ever suspect might prove helpful.
