Dayyan’s replies immediately and I grab my phone, perhaps a little too frantically. And maybe I grin a little too broadly when I see the thumbs up on my display.
“Where are you going?” Why the hell is Luca still in the kitchen? “Suppose I followed you, who would I see you with?”
“Come on, leave it. Why are you even at home? Where’s Kira?” I think her name was Kira, but you can never besure. Luca changes his partners like other people change their underwear.
He looks at me, almost disturbed. “Kira and I were three weeks ago.”
“Sorry, my bad. Apparently, I’ve lost track. Who is it now?”
“Lucien. We have fun at parties or after soccer sometimes, but we’re not together.” Defensive, almost horrified, Luca raises both hands at the word “together.”
My brother is one of those effortless good-looking people, who doesn’t even have to try. Everyone loves Luca’s black curls and his blue eyes, his masculine features, which are already much more pronounced than those of the other sixteen-year-olds. And then there’s his easygoing manner—five minutes around him and the party is his. Or the classroom or whatever. Everyone wants to be friends with him, and hardly anyone notices who he’s hiding behind that loud façade – the lonely child who doesn’t let anyone get close to him because he’s so incredibly afraid of losing them again.
“I don’t know how we got so far off topic. What’s your friend’s name?” And that’s my cue to make a silent exit. I don’t want to talk about Dayyan, or I’d have to think about the excited fluttering in my stomach, and I don’t want to.
When I realize how fast I’m walking, I stop abruptly. With trembling hands, I pull my phone out of my pocket and scroll through my messages. The chat I’m looking for is at the bottom. I haven’t received a new message in over three years. Sometimes I write to him when I don’t know what to do with my emotions. I send the message and the chat slips back to the top. As if everything was fine. But by the next day at the latest, it’s clear that there is no one on the other end and there never will be again. His photo is still there, and I stare at the single gray checkmark. Never again will there be two, never again will they turn blue. I read our last messages.
“How are you?”
“Not so well. I try to sleep now.”
“See you tomorrow. Sleep well.”
“See you tomorrow.”
My finger strokes the kiss emoji. Tomorrow never came.
I scroll further and land on our last photo together. I was sitting on a bench waiting for Danny when he hugged me from behind and took the selfie completely by surprise. We’re both laughing. His blue eyes are shining in the winter sun. We were rarely out, but the weather was great that day. Clear skies and sunshine, freezing cold. I can still feel his arms around my neck, and I want to lean into him, but there’s no one left to hug me back.
Emptiness drops like a stone in my stomach, and I feel tears running down my cheeks. My phone vibrates and I flinch. A new message from Dayyan. Why is he writing? Has he changed his mind?
The laughter comes out so quickly and so unpredictably I have no chance to hold it back. My heart is beating a little too fast.
In the photo he sent me, Flocke is sitting in front of the garden gate, looking intently at the street. And there, at the edge of the picture, is this Dayyan’s foot dangling? He’s probably sitting on the wall base holding the gate. I see the even, golden brown skin of his leg with the jet-black hair. He’s so different from Danny.
“Someone’s waiting for you!” is written under the picture.
I quickly rub my eyes and continue walking.
Flocke notices me first. As if stung by a tarantula, she races through the garden when she sees me, before she returns to her place at the gate, wagging her tail. This dog has learned quicklythat I communicate in signs, not words. I can’t speak to her when people are around us. So when I lift my hand, Flocke sits down to get her long-awaited pat.
“Hello! I’m happy to see you too.” Dayyan is still sitting on the wall, watching amused as his dog and I forget the world around us for a brief moment.
“Hey! Want me to scratch your chin?” I’m more and more relaxed, I can tell by comments like this, which are always floating around in my head but rarely find their way out. Usually it’s with Luca or with the rest of my family, but never with other people, not even with my device.
“If I can lick you afterwards?” That’s what I like about Dayyan, he gives me a silly comeback and laughs. I never have to explain myself; he just understands me. “Are you okay?”
He’s referring to my red eyes, sees that I’ve been crying. It’s an honest question, and I know he really wants an answer. I don’t want to lie to him. But now, here in this moment, with him, on the street in front of his house, my heart is so much lighter than it was ten minutes ago, and I nod. Everything’s fine.
Luca’s words come to my mind. “What’s your friend’s name?” He said friend, he meant something more, I’m sure of that, but for the first time since Danny, I don’t feel alone anymore. That there might be someone who cares about me and wants to spend time with me. Friendship. Nothing more. Definitely nothing more. My heart beats a little faster at this thought. Friends.
Chapter 8
Dayyan
He’d been crying. It was more than obvious. His eyes were red-rimmed, and his smile was a little strained, reserved. He didn't want to tell me what was wrong though. He never does. Talking about himself isn’t his thing, but when I ask the right questions, I get answers. Sometimes hesitantly, but he never ignores them. In moments like this it feels like I haven't asked the really important questions yet.
It’s not the loss of his mother preoccupying him, nor his early childhood full of neglect and rejection. The pain he carries within him has a different origin.
