Chapter 6
After dinner that night, Felix and I added each other on WhatsApp.
His profile picture was a stretch of blue‑green sea. There was no selfie, no other scenery, only the ocean.
His status was totally blank, as clean and unadorned as he was himself.
I started messaging him every day.
At first, I was all serious, asking him Sterkisch questions like, "How do you pronounce this word?" or "Is this sentence grammatically correct?"
He always replied briefly, but he was always serious. Sometimes, he'd send me a voice message, reading the word or sentence aloud in his deep, flawless accent.
Every time I got one of his voice messages, I'd play it again and again.
It wasn't about learning Sterkisch. I simply wanted to hear his voice.
Later, our conversations started to drift away from Sterkisch and into everyday stuff.
Felix: [What did you have for lunch today?]
Me: [Cafeteria food. It was terrible.]
Felix: [Come over to my place for dinner.]
Me: [Really?]
Felix: [Yeah. My mom said she misses you.]
I stared at his message for ages, then suddenly shot up in bed, my fingers shaking as I typed.
Me: [When should I come over?]
Felix: [This weekend.]
*****
That weekend, I stood outside Felix's place, holding two bags of fruit. My hand was trembling a bit as I pressed the doorbell.
Felix opened the door himself.
He was dressed in dark gray sweats, his hair tousled, a few strands hanging over his forehead.
He leaned against the doorframe, looking down at me, and there was a hint of a smile on his lips, more than usual.
"Come on in," he said.
"Where's your mom?" I asked.
"She went out to buy groceries. She'll be back soon."
I changed into slippers and walked in, setting the fruit down on the coffee table.
The living room looked the same as last time, but there was a new addition on the coffee table. It was a Veyrish poetry collection, with a bookmark tucked between the pages.
I picked it up, curious, and flipped through the pages. The page where the bookmark was placed held the very poem I had recited on the night I met Felix.
"Been reading this?" I asked.
"Just flipping through it," he replied.
"Is it because I recited that poem the other night?"
Without answering, he turned and walked into the kitchen.
I followed him in, leaning against the kitchen doorframe, watching his back as he grabbed something from the fridge.
*****
Weekend dinners became a regular thing.
Emma would always prepare a whole table full of dishes, including several unfamiliar ones that blended Sterkenlandish and Veyranian flavors. Still, I thought her pure Veyranian cuisine tasted best.
Every time, I'd eat until my stomach was stuffed, then flop onto the couch, too full to move.
Felix would handle the dishes, and I'd hang around, watching him do the work.
One day, I leaned over the kitchen counter and asked, "Why did you become a cop?"
"I wanted to do something meaningful," he replied.
"Is it because it looks cool?"
He paused for a second, the bowl in his hand still. "No."
"Then why?"
"Sterkenlandish police needed more people."
"Wow, that's a solid reason."
He shot me a look. "Why else?"
"I thought you'd say something like 'for justice' or whatever."
"Justice is part of it," he said, putting the clean bowl in the dish rack. "But the police being short-staffed is also a reason."
I laughed for a good while.
He glanced at me, the faintest hint of a smile on his lips, then turned back to the dishes.
That day, I managed to pull off another classic language fail.
I was trying to say, "Can you grab my charger for me?"
But instead, I blurted out, "Can you take my charger?"
Felix, spatula in hand, raised an eyebrow at me. "You want me to take your charger?"
"Yeah, just hand it over," I said.
"'Take it away' and 'bring it over' aren't the same thing."
"Wait, what?"
He set down the spatula, walked over, picked up my charger from the table, and handed it to me.
"Bring means to bring it here, and take means to take it away," he said, slowing down and enunciating each word. "You said take."
I clutched the charger, my face turning red again. "Sterkisch is such a hassle."
He looked down at me, a faint smile flickering in his green eyes. "You're a hassle, too."
"How am I a hassle?"
"You always mess up your coffee order."
I covered my face. "Please stop."
For once, he let out a soft, almost imperceptible laugh. It was brief, but I caught it.
I dropped my hands and looked at him.
He was already turning back to scrub the pan, but his side profile seemed a lot gentler than usual, and he couldn't quite hide the smile at the corner of his mouth.
I couldn't take my eyes off that smile for ages. It was like something warm brushed against my heart.