Other Side

08 | It's a Yes or No Question

The new year came and went, and Talia was not a new person.

She wasn't close to losing five pounds, breaking her fear of unexpected phone calls, or unfollowing Logan on all forms of social media. The only thing she was on the cusp of was leaving, and her flight home was still a very long eleven days away.

The days were blurring, mixtures of freezing walks outside, intermittent shopping trips outside the suburbs, and reading—actual reading. The hardcover that hadn't left her hands in the last six hours still felt awkward and foreign, too heavy to keep elevated for extended periods of time. No matter which way she angled the pages, the print was always shy of making her feel like she was going blind.

Had her optometrist been lying to her all this time when he'd said she didn't need glasses? The no-zoom option on books was definitely making her reconsider canceling her yearly appointment.

Bored out of her mind on a cold January morning, she resorted to vacuuming the entire top floor, a rather laborious task for almost spotless carpet, but she was bored—bored-bored. She dragged the outdated machine over every single open space, even over the carpet that lined the stairs, until she realized that a vacuum older than she was wasn't worth her life.

Thirty minutes later, only one room remained, its door ajar. Talia already knew Zaid was out on another one of his cathartic runs, but it'd already been an hour since he'd left, and he didn't strike her as that much of an athlete.

Although she eventually floated through the door, she surely wasn't cleaning the room, sparing herself the addition of "untalented maid" to his list of pending insults. Still, some combination of morbid curiosity and spite washed over her as she pattered to his desk cluttered in papers. Checking behind her for the fifth time, she picked up the first few pages.

Ha, of course. She couldn't read them no matter how hard she squinted, the foreign script appearing like nothing more than never-ending curves and squiggles. She sighed, realizing the rest of this room was as drab as he was. A bed with black sheets, a few jackets strewn at the end, two suitcases in the corner, a deflated green soccer ball on his dresser.

Football, his annoying, wannabe-British accent corrected her in her head.

"I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but if you were thinking of taking up housekeeping as a part-time job, it may not work out." Zaid's playful voice crept closer and closer until she could feel him hovering behind her back. Bringing his mouth to her ear, he whispered, "You missed a spot in the hallway."

Talia froze, his mystery writings still in her hands. Somehow, she could tell he was smiling from behind her, though her hammering heart made her think otherwise. Swallowing, she lowered the papers to his desk, at least freely admitting she was snooping.

She turned around and tilted her head up to meet those hazel-brown eyes that seemed to mirror her own in every way but color. So warm and inviting, even though both of them were neither deep down.

"If those runs are part of a quest to lose weight, hate to break it to you, buddy," she said, sucking in her cheeks, "you missed a spot."

She poked her index finger into the middle of his shirt, feeling the thinnest layer of fat before hitting pure muscle. Shit, maybe not. His lips formed in the shape of an O, stifling a nervous laugh.

The situation became far less humorous as they fought each other's distance. He took a step forward and she one back, then he made another advance until she ended up with her back flat against his closet door.

Snatching the pile of papers from his desk, he leaned closer, lips just by her ear again. "At least, Talia, I have the courtesy to knock." His free hand propped itself on the wall above her shoulder. "And truly, the smarts to learn a second language. You would make a pretty shitty spy, I have to admit."