After flirting at work they met for lunch. Friday night at dinner they rambled on about the job and the people who worked there. They ended up at her place and performed as many deeds as two people can reasonably undertake and accomplish. But neither felt the intimacy that arises after a willing sharing of personal details—neither felt a mutual future existed. No, they failed to talk about things that mattered—stories of their lives—best and worst of their biographies; how they interpreted the events they’d encountered; their family dramas—those things that meant they’d become special friends.