Are we poor?

Chad was tall. He was 168 cm, while the national average was 162 cm. So, he considered calling himself tall as fair.

He was handsome. Beauty was subjective, and he was exquisite in his eyes. Everyone that mattered agreed.

He was intelligent. Extremely intelligent. This was a fact that could be proven. The last he checked, his iq was 169. A few years before, it was 165. And a few years before, it was 160, which was the lowest ever. It was a few years since he scored 169, so it was definitely more now. And that number made him irrefutably intelligent.

He was also born into a rich and powerful family.

All of which should have meant he was a golden prince and extremely popular. Only, he wasn't. He liked being by himself, because he couldn't be bothered to be considerate to people. In fact, other than those he liked, who he referred to as people who mattered, he didn't like people. He also didn't like doing things that didn't interest him. The only things that did interest him were cooking, specifically rice, watching movies and dramas, particularly rom-coms, and reading trashy novels that were outright stupid and unintentionally funny.

Everything he liked could be done at home, which was why he loved staying home. His father and paternal grandparents worried that he would become so cut off from the world that he would lose that little bit of humanness inside of him. So they requested that he take a walk outside, in the streets, among people, for an hour each week. Because Chad was so fond of them, he agreed, albeit reluctantly. And that, was the start of it all.

Officially, the street market was Presidency lane. The reason being that twenty years ago, when the president visited B-City, he stayed at a hotel at the end of the street. While leaving, the president announced that he honestly fell in love with the street market. The people didn't think much of it, until a few years later, after the end of his term, the ex-president visited the street market again, with his entire family. Realising that the ex-president's words were true, the people were ready to accept the city's suggestion to rename the street as Presidency lane. And that became a feature separating the residents of the city from the visitors, for the residents called the street by its old name, mountain market.

The vast majority of Chad's walks were along the mountain market. Mainly because he loved the homemade ice cream sticks that were sold on tiny carts only in mountain market. He loved relishing the cold taste while enjoying the loudness and the warm coarseness of the old sellers. Even more, he loved that everyone in the market loved rice. It was a favourite topic of discussions, the many possible ways to cook rice, and the many dishes that could be made with rice, and vegetables and meat, without the need for another dish to go with the rice.

Chad was almost at his favourite uncle's cart, he was feeling hungry for chocolate today, when he was blocked. It was some guy in a black suit, grinning stupidly, and seemed to be looking down on him. Without waiting for him to speak, the strange guy began.

"Oh, look who it is. Aren't you the little brother? Yes, this is a good place for you. After all, it's not like you'll be rich forever. Maybe, in the not too distant future, this will seem a luxury. You should just stay here. Be a mountain man of the mountain market."

Having said his piece, the strange guy walked away, as if gloating. Chad was confused. He looked around, his eyes stopping on the old woman from the stall next to him selling pickles. "Was he speaking to you?" He asked. The old woman looked even more bemused.

"I think it was you," she said. Nodding to express her certainty.

"Really?" Chad asked, pointing at himself. "But I don't know him." The old woman looked even more confused as he continued. "Do you think he's crazy? Why else would he go around talking to strangers as if he's familiar with them? And what does mountain man mean? Is it some kind of a joke? I've never heard it. Do you think we should call the police and let them know there's a crazy man prowling the market? He might hurt someone." The more he spoke, the more convinced the old woman seemed. In the end, she pulled out her phone and really did call the police. Satisfied that he'd done his part, Chad walked on to his favourite uncle's cart.

By then, a little girl who couldn't be older than nine was standing in front of the cart. "I want a chocolate ice cream stick," she said. The old seller smiled as he gave the little girl the ice cream. While waiting for her to pay, the old man greeted the familiar Chad with a big smile.

"I want chocolate ice cream too," Chad said.

The old man looked uncomfortable as he answered. "That was the last one. Sorry. I've got others. How about sour grape? You like sour grape, don't you?"

"Not today," Chad answered. And then, turned toward the little girl. "I want the chocolate ice cream. How about you give me that and in return I'll give you ten ice cream sticks?" The girl looked troubled. "Hundred then." This time, she readily gave him the chocolate ice cream. Chad was pleased. He turned to the old man, and paid for his as well as the hundred for the girl. "I've paid for a hundred. You can just come and ask. You have a phone?" The girl nodded. "Then, I'll transfer the money to your phone, so you can just buy." With that, he transferred the money to the girl's phone, and walked away enjoying the chocolate ice cream.

The old woman who witnessed the whole exchange, shook her head sadly. The actions of the young man proved that he was rich, and there was no way he was going to be poor any time soon.

Chad didn't feel like walking the market anymore. The crazy guy had ruined the mood. He headed back home, finishing the ice cream just as he reached home. Walking in, he saw his elder brother lounged on the sofa, a novel in hand and the news on tv. Chad had to admit it, though without any envy, that his elder brother was far more handsome. Even the name was handsomer. Elmo.

Chad walked over, pushed his brother's feet off of the sofa, making space for himself, sat by his brother's side, and spoke calmly. "Are we poor?"