“It’s subjective, though. Art and books,” I added. “I’m no expert in art, but I know books, and there is such a misconception about what genre people prefer. I don’t give a fuck what people read, as long as they read. From manga to gardening books, it doesn’t matter, and why people scoff at romance, I’ll never know. Because isn’t it a beautiful thing? Romance, that is. People wanting a happy ending. How is that ever wrong? But that being said, I’d like to think I know a lot about a person by what they read. Knowing what people choose to read or study or what books they enjoy in private is akin to seeing someone’s browser history, their true selves. Autobiographies, murder mystery, self-help, romance… And then you have sub-genres within those genres, which adds another layer of awareness. Some people like any and all crime and thriller, yet some will only read true crime or fictional crime where the protagonist is a forty-year-old woman with mummy issues.” I took a sip of my coffee. “It can say a lot about a person.”

“And what do you think my choice of audiobooks says about me?”

“That you have eclectic tastes. That you like a broad range of subjects, so you have a well-versed scope on how humans think, and in world affairs, that you’re open minded, always learning. You like some escapism but enjoy being challenged. I’d say you’re rather clever, smarter than you like to let on. And I think you thrive in your own company, and you need to be mentally stimulated by something, or someone, before you delve a little deeper.”

He blinked. “Holy shit. I’d say… you’re not wrong.”

“I know I’m not.”

“And what does your love for eighteenth-century French poets say about you?”

“I can’t answer that for me. You tell me what it says about me.”

He let out a slow breath. “I’m not going to lie. I feel a little exposed after what you just said about me.”

I baulked at that. “How so? I didn’t mean to offend you—”

“Oh, I’m not offended. I just feel—” He let out another breath. “—like you see me. I feel kind of stripped bare, given you dissected me in five seconds with your analogy. But you… see me.”

I blushed. “I like what I see, just so you know.”

He laughed. “Okay, my turn. What does your love of eighteenth-century poets say about you? I think it tells me that you’re a romantic at heart. Perhaps, like the revolution itself and like those who survived it, that despite all the adversity and horrors, there is still hope that love will win in the end.”

Oh God.