Whenever he started feeling like a fraud of a Tunisian (his blurry Arabic, his old Catholicism, his skin light like a summer tan), wind would come up off the coast and remind him how much he hated even the hint of cold. Haris had been trying to adjust, lately. This afternoon, suspicious of the difference in weather outside and weather on his phone, he’d grabbed a sweatshirt on his way out the door – and sure enough, the wind on the bike ride over had him wishing he’d put it on, instead of shoving it in his backpack for later.
He slid into it once he parked, working an arm through a sleeve while he locked his bike up at the rack. There probably wasn’t a lot of overlap between people who steal bikes and people who go to tea-rooms. Still. The suicide brakes and bright yellow frame were the closest he had to a car, right down to the sense of careful pride. Haris was early yet. He waited in the lobby, where drafty air conditioning drew his sweatshirt zipper higher as he swiped through a game of Bejeweled, leaning silently against the wall next to the front door. If the receptionist was trying to get his attention, he couldn’t tell; as soon as he pulled up to the Tea Room, he’d turned off his CIs. That was the whole point of this, right? Teaching (sharing) (learning) for real, without the watered-down safeties of the nursery school?
Haris couldn’t remember who had suggested it. He’d been at the nursery for over a year now, on a sort of once-monthly basis – they had DVDs and notecards for the rest, baby sign language the new fad among anxious, over-doting parents. Lucy was bright and kind, good with kids, not afraid to ask questions. And they’d got on well, and she–
Oh, hey, here she was. He slid his phone in his back pocket, raising a hand in hello as she strode over with her skirt chasing her knees. She was already signing when she reached him, and Haris had to press his lips together so he didn’t break out in a grin: her hesitation, her impatience with herself, her smile like she was already in too deep. “Outside, I think,” he said. He didn’t slow his own hands too much, even if it meant he’d have to repeat himself later. Authenticity. No safety net for her, either (though hell if this didn’t feel like an audition for something, the way they were standing and jumping right into it). “The wind’ll get messy,” and he put the word up by his hair, so she knew what sort of mess he was talking about, “but the sun’s so much better than these lights. Too much time inside.” Haris’s eyes flicked over to the hostess, whom he gave a quick head-shake (no thanks, don’t seat us, we won’t be inside) before looking back at Lucy. “I turned them off,” he added, pointing to his ears, “but I can read your lips if I have to. No pressure.” His grin was all there, now. Some stuff won’t stay stifled.
Truth be told, Lucy was somewhat scared of the casual conversation prior to the dinner and tea –– and the studying, sort of. It was more a practice session, more than anything else... Or so she hoped. The blonde was internally praying she would not screw up and embarrass herself , although a part of her also knew Haris would not tease her about it forever if she did... She was overreacting. The way his lips twisted at her actions made her eyes find the floor, not offended, but suddenly feeling very shy; however, the smile never left her face, not even when she looked back at him –– dark brown eyes meeting his exotic... Was that green? That did not matter anyway, most of her attention would be directed towards his hands, for at least most of the evening. So instead of getting all personal there, Lucy’s eyes went to his hands, nodding slowly at what she understood. She couldn’t help but chuckle when he mentioned how their hair would end up like, shaking her head a little. Her hands raised again, and after a brief second, she began moving her fingers again. “Now imagine how mine will look. But I totally agree, sunlight won’t do any harm.” She attempted to sign.
She was both surprised and proud of herself, she remembered more than she imagined she would. And what she didn’t precisely catch she could infer from the context of his phrases. She understood that his hearing aid was off but that he’d still be able to read her lips if necessary. And his smile welcomed her like a motherly hug would, easily taking half of that odd feeling weight on her shoulders off her. It was impossible not to return it. “Thank you,” she said, smile on her lips still. Her head turned to meet a somewhat confused hostess, so she’d make it her job to make the situation clear for her. “Oh, we’re going to sit outside, thank you very much.” The blonde offered the young woman a polite nod as she followed her friend to the tea room’s back exit, that led to a little terrace with the most beautiful view to the ocean and a little bit of the Seven Sisters cliffs. Once they found themselves a table to share, Lucy satin front of him, handing her purse from the holder a waiter had brought over to her. “Do you know what you’ll have?” she asked, focused, but still somehow smiling, imagining how the people around them would be wondering what they were doing.
izzy806
jbbartram-illu
annaxmalina
stormborns
kianamaiart
areudirty
kaledo-art
