The rain outside had turned into a steady downpour, drumming against the café’s windows in rhythmic pulses. Inside, the warm glow of overhead lights cast long shadows across the floor. The air smelled of roasted beans and something artificial—vanilla, maybe. Manufactured comfort. The hum of the espresso machine filled the silence between words.

  Ezra traced the rim of his cup with his finger, his eyes distant. Adam watched him for a moment before speaking.

  "Alright," Adam said, leaning back in his chair. "Let’s say you’re right. Let’s say choice is an illusion, and we’re all just being funneled into pre-approved decisions. What’s the alternative?"

  Ezra looked up, smirking. "The alternative? That’s the funny part. There isn’t one."

  Adam raised an eyebrow. "So you’re telling me you’ve thought about all this, come to these conclusions, and still, there’s nothing to do about it?"

  Ezra shrugged. "What would you suggest?"

  Adam exhaled sharply, glancing around the café. A barista, wearing an apron with the company’s minimalist logo embroidered on it, moved behind the counter. A couple of customers sat at their laptops, typing away, probably working remotely—contributing to some corporation’s endless stream of productivity.

  "People could stop buying into it," Adam said finally. "Just—stop. Stop chasing trends. Stop letting companies dictate their desires. If enough people did that, the system would collapse, wouldn’t it?"

  Ezra chuckled, shaking his head. "You think consumerism is just about buying things? That’s cute."

  Adam frowned. "What do you mean?"

  This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

  Ezra leaned forward, his voice lowering. "It’s not about things, Adam. It’s about identity. Every purchase, every preference, every rejection of something is a way people define themselves. You don’t just buy a jacket—you buy into what that jacket says about you. You don’t just drink coffee—you drink the idea of who you are when you drink that specific kind of coffee.

  "Consumerism isn’t just a market—it’s a language. A belief system. A way people convince themselves they’re real. And you can’t just ‘opt out’ of something that’s embedded in how you see yourself."

  Adam opened his mouth to argue but hesitated.

  Ezra continued. "Even people who claim to reject consumerism do so in ways that fit neatly within the system. Minimalists? They buy expensive, well-branded ‘simple’ living items. Environmentalists? They support ‘sustainable’ companies that still rely on endless consumption. People who say they don’t care about brands? That, in itself, becomes a statement—a brand of its own. There’s no escape, Adam. The moment you define yourself against it, you’re still playing the game."

  Adam exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. "So what, then? If rejecting it is just another form of participating, are you saying the only option is to accept it? Just roll over and play along?"

  Ezra’s eyes flickered with something unreadable. "I didn’t say that."

  The two sat in silence for a long moment. The café buzzed around them—people scrolling on their phones, sipping drinks they ordered without thinking, having conversations that would be forgotten by morning.

  Adam’s fingers drummed against the table. "You talk a lot about the problem," he said finally. "But you haven’t given a single solution. Not one."

  Ezra smirked. "That’s because I don’t have one."

  Adam scoffed. "Figures."

  Ezra tilted his head. "Tell me something, Adam. If I handed you a way out—a real one—would you take it?"

  Adam narrowed his eyes. "What are you talking about?"

  Ezra leaned in just a little, his voice barely above a whisper. "What if there was a way to live outside of it? To be truly free? No brand, no expectations, no system telling you who to be. Would you walk away from everything you know?"

  Adam stared at him, searching his face for a sign of sarcasm. But Ezra wasn’t smiling anymore. His expression was unreadable—like someone standing at the edge of a cliff, wondering if they should jump.

  The rain outside grew heavier.

  For the first time that evening, Adam had nothing to say.