“I am so sorry!” The man next to me froze from the impact of our collision, as he bent down to pick up the grocery bags he was carrying.  Immediately, I crouched down and reached for another bag.  “Let me help you.”

I was about to pick up a bag when I saw the stain on the brown paper.  In the dim light of the streetlamps, it was difficult to make out the color exactly, but the man quickly swept it up in an almost measured movement- too gracefully and quickly for a normal human being. 

“It’s all right,” he said, smiling.  “I should have been more careful.”

“Still…” I trailed off.  “I hope nothing was broken?”

“No,” he said, with a quick glance to the bags.  “I should hope that the steak from the supermarket would survive a little fall, at least until I can get to my apartment.”

“That’s good,” I replied.  “Well, goodbye, then,” I made my way to the bench on the bus stop and sat down.  He did not move. 

“You’re waiting for the bus too?” When I nodded, he frowned.  “Here? Doesn’t that smell of sewage bother you?”

I sighed.  “Not really,” I twisted my phone in my hands.  “I have congenital anosmia.  It’s-”

“You haven’t been able to smell anything your entire life,” he said in understanding, nodding his head.  While most people would have looked curious or sympathetic, he looked somewhat relieved and understanding. 

“How do you know?” I asked, curious.  Congenital anosmia was uncommon enough that normal people did not know what I was talking about. 

“My sister has anosmia too,” he said.  “Not from birth, though.”

We continued to speak as we waited for the bus, the conversation never running dry.  That man worked as a teaching assistant for a forensics course in the university in another town and was here on vacation.  I told him about my current high school, and he gave me some advice on applying to university.  He seemed gentle but confident, always able to contribute to a conversation about anything. 

“My favorite food? Pork,” he said, without hesitation. 

“Really? Most people say chicken, or something,” I laughed. 

“Or something? I’m guessing you don’t know a whole lot about meat.  Are you vegan?”

“Vegetarian.  From birth,” I said.  “I can’t recognize any meat, raw or cooked.”

“You are missing out on so much,” he said, eyes lighting up, evident even in the low lighting.  “There is a whole section of cuisine you haven’t tried yet: Steak, beef, mutton, people-”

“People?” We both laughed at the joke as an empty bus pulled up.  Immediately, the man stood.

“Goodbye then,” he said.  “It was nice talking to you.”

“Same to you!” I waved him goodbye, handing him a bag that he forgot to take himself, wiping the following dampness from the contents on the unoccupied section of bench.  Waiting for my own bus to arrive, I watched him slide some money through the slot in the glass to the waiting bus driver and take a seat near the back as he pulled out his phone.  In a few seconds, the bus was gone. 

The new silence seemed especially oppressive after the lively conversation we had.  Idly realizing that I never learned this man’s name, I waited for my transport back home.

“Why is everyone so down?” I muttered to my friend before our fist lesson.  For once in my school life, the room was not filled with chatter or crashes of furniture breaking. 

“You didn’t here?” she hissed in disbelief.  “Ugh, read the newspaper for once in your life! Somebody from this town was killed last night.  Well, they say killed.  They never found the body, by the whole area was bloody.”

“You would think that with the plethora of DNA present that they would find something,” I said grimacing.  A bloody crime scene sounded disgusting.  I could only imagine what kind of pungent odor was at the apartment when they found the body, if the smell of raw meat was as bad as everyone said it was. 

“That the thing though,” she glanced around and hushed her voice.  “My uncle is working on the case.  I overheard him telling my mother that there was no trace left behind, except for an empty brown paper bag.  The cops are going insane.  Everyone is trying to catch the man”

“The killer was smart,” I said.  “Then it’s a good thing that the police-”

“Guys! They found him!” A boy leapt from his seat, almost hurling his phone across the room.  “It’s some teacher at a university! A bus driver reported him to the police when he found the description of the man.  And- oh god.  He confessed to eating his sister last night.”

My stomach twisted and someone in the room gagged.  Immediately, the room was in an uproar, everyone grabbing at their own phones, or hounding the boy for more questions.  Through this chaos, his phone slid across my desk as he dropped it. 

The face on the screen was…

Oh no.  The forensics.  The passion for meat.  My sister has anosmia too.

The liquid I wiped on the bench.  The steak.  The-

I ran out of the room.