Most of them will throw you the default grin, that neat mask of social grease. What if you could nudge […]

You’ve got a drink, a name sticker, and half a smile you keep readjusting like it might unlock something. Across

You meet seven new people before lunchtime. The barista who remembers your order. The mum at the school gate. The

Two people leaning in at a bar, trading glances like a secret currency, laughing a half-second apart. Another pair nearby

Phones lifted like shields. The tiny, awkward pause before you decide whether to say something or stare at your shoes.

Shoulders sink a touch, hands stop defending the table’s edge, breath evens out without being told. The room doesn’t change,

You’ll see nine unfamiliar faces today — on the train, in the lift, at the till — and you’ll probably

You can feel it the way you feel a draught: a conversation that slips, stalls, then wheezes back to life.

A driver at a zebra crossing. The colleague’s friend you’ve heard stories about. The stranger in a queue who smells

In a meeting, a date, a family chat, you can’t ask outright. You read the room with your eyes, your