It took a second for his words to compute in my brain, and I realised we were almost at his stop. “Uh, sure. It’s another one of Angus’ questions. And it is in itself somewhat questionable, but then again, so is he. But he genuinely wants to know the answer to this.”

“Who’s Angus?”

“My flatmate and one of my best mates.”

Hennessy smiled. “And his question…”

“Well, at first he wanted to know why everyone hated Nickelback so much. I told him that wasn’t a valid question. He said it started with why and ended with a question mark and that made it a valid question, but the thing about Angus is, he… well, he’s just Angus. And his other question. God. He wants to know why cereal isn’t considered to be or called a soup.”

Hennessy stared at me for a full few seconds, then he laughed. “I really don’t know. Some actual soups are made from just one ingredient and some are served cold, so I don’t think there’s any reason it couldn’t be called a soup. Maybe there’s a gastronomical reason. Maybe soups have some qualifying factor that takes them from a drink to a meal.”

I shrugged. “What about porridge? It starts out as a liquid, grains are added, and it’s heated to a thicker consistency. But we don’t call it oatmeal soup. And a few differing ingredients aside, what separates a Bloody Mary from gazpacho? That one is consumed from a glass or straw and the other with a spoon. Angus and I discussed this at great length the other night, and he thought you might be able to shed some light.”

Hennessy laughed. “I’m not sure I’m really qualified to answer that question.”

I sighed. “I knew I should have just stuck to one of my own.”

“And what would that have been?”

“My questions? Easy ones like do you have any tattoos? Or what’s the coolest place you’ve ever travelled to? You know the basic, getting-to-know-you, gaining-some-insight kind of questions.”

The bus pulled into his stop and he let go of my hand, stood up, and squeezed past me. “Yes, I have one. And Nepal.”

I watched him get off the bus, and my heart banged in my ribs when he looked up and smiled at me as the bus pulled away. Again, my mind was stuck on how my hand felt empty now he’d let it go, and it took a few seconds for his answers to the questions I’d asked to make sense. Yes, he has one tattoo, and he’s been to Nepal.

The lady in front of me turned and said, “I couldn’t help but overhear your conversation. And yesterday’s. I think the questions are cute.”

Then a guy across the aisle leaned across and said, “He’s been to Nepal? That’s smooth.”