The student

The student moved out this month and is still finding out what is missing. The list is long and mostly boring, so the gift is the thing on it that they would not buy first.

A school backpack that fits a laptop has a padded back, a laptop sleeve, and a shape that survives being thrown on the floor of a lecture hall. It was designed for school; it does not know that. More backpacks.

A laptop cooling pad is for the machine that runs hot when the essay runs long. It is not elegant. It is the difference between a fan you can hear and one you cannot. More coolers.

A clip-on desk lamp has two colour temperatures and a clamp, and no base on a desk that has no room for one. More desk lamps.

Closed monitoring headphones were built for hearing what is there and nothing of the room. In a shared house, the room is the thing you want less of. More headphones.

A tablet with a pencil in mind takes notes in lectures and carries the textbooks on the train, on a screen that is not the phone. That last part is the point. More tablets.

And a key finder and a card tracker: one on the keys, one in the wallet. The two things a student loses, found from the phone. More trackers.

A yoga mat with a strap is for the room that is also the gym. It rolls up and hangs behind the door, which is where the gym lives in a student flat. More yoga mats.

And a lunchbox with a mouse on it, childish on purpose. The lunch that comes from home is the lunch that does not cost anything, and the mouse is a reminder. More food containers.