«We were too different, you were so sensitive. Gave me the best of that, I was so negligent.»
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Irina snapped her fingers in front of her face, Salma blinked, suddenly focusing on blue eyes and not the window behind the other model. Her friend raised an eyebrow, as though questioning why she'd been everywhere else but there for about ten minutes or maybe more. Salma levelled against her seat, hands reaching to fiddle with the napkin on her right.
"What is going on with you? Are you alright? You've been staring aimlessly at the window for like eight minutes I swear!" Irina tilted her head slightly, all analysing and observant. Trying to find any sign of emotion in her expression.
Her brows creased. "What?"
"You're not here here, that's what I mean. I asked if you'd gotten an email with your flight information because I got mine yesterday and you didn't even pay attention. What's up with that? Are you...?" And with her index finger, she brushed the side of her nose.
She rolled her eyes. "No, I'm not on anything." She did actually have another answer to her questions. A reason. An excuse. Whatever. "I'm meeting with Pierre later...to talk. You know."
"What's so worrying about that? Is he going to ask you to be his girlfriend?" Irina snorted and she retorted with an icy glare.
She glanced away, avoiding making eye contact. "Talk, Irina. Talk. Can you do the maths or do I have to help you out?"
It seemed that now she'd understood. "Oh," Yes, oh indeed. Salma nodded. "Oh shit, you're going to do it. Finally, god. It was getting concerning."
"Don't say that." She frowned down at her coffee cup. "Don't say finally."
What she expected was a quip, or even a laugh, very Irina-like. Someone who didn't take things seriously and had seen everything as what it was supposed to be: a joke. But it never came, in return, she got nothing but silence. This forced her to look up and meet Irina's gaze, once again she was staring back with some kind of scrutiny. As though the tone of her voice had changed her perception of the situation. Irina placed her elbows on the table, hands lacing with one another in front of her face.
Salma felt like shrinking in her seat from how deeply she was being looked at. "Oh my god, you like this guy, don't you?" The blonde concluded, lips parting slightly to show how surprised she was with the realisation.
"What? I didn't say that, don't start with your nonsense. Seriously."
"No, no," Her eyes widened. "It makes so much sense now. I might look dumb sometimes, and act it too, but I'm not dumb. I've been asking you nonstop when will you be done with it and you're always deflecting the question. Then all those dates with him, you barely speak about them with us. We ask and you just brush everything away saying it's going well and he's easy. You fucking like him."
Even though Irina did not sound judgy at all — she genuinely sounded glad over her new discovery — Salma felt somehow cornered. "You're just saying things, Irina. Stop it."
"You're not pulling that bullshit with me. Can you admit it? I won't even make fun of it, come on!"
"I don't–what is this about?"
Irina waved an accusatory finger at her. "You're deflecting. Again." She was running out of things to say. "Holy shit, I can't believe I was right. I said it'd be a bad idea and you and Slo were all no it won't but here we are."
"You said I would kill him. That's different." She rebutted. Irina was easy to distract. Generally.
"So you're not denying it? That you like him?" And apparently, she wasn't as good at deflecting as she'd liked herself to be. Salma huffed and brought the cup to her lips in an attempt to distract herself and buy some extra time. "Slo will have a field day with this one, for sure. Like we genuinely did believe you'd murder him before falling in love with him. Fuck."
