Drowning

Fifteen;

I hadn't expected her to say 'yes'. In fact, I was uncertain as to why I had even asked. Pathetic hope, I suppose. I just enjoyed her company. So, when she, moments later, said that she wanted to, I couldn't help but smile. I also couldn't help but feel warm inside.

We had just arrived at my place. She'd been wandering slowly around my apartment, a small smile on her soft features as she eyed up every single little detail. I boiled the kettle whilst she did this, and stole not one, not two, but many, many glances.

She was just so intricate and lovely to look at; the way her hips always, even if only slightly, swayed as she took steps. The way her eyes were always so wide and so curious, like a cat or a child. Or perhaps just like somebody who was high often. The way her lips would part, just ever so slightly, when she was focussed. Even the way her small fingers were constantly doing something; constantly moving. I wondered if this was a nervous thing, or if she didn't like to stay still. Either way, I found every single, no matter how big or how small, quirk she possessed, to be endearing.

"It is motivating, I understand what you mean now." Zahara suddenly says, walking towards where I stood in the open plan kitchen.

"What is?" I ask.

"This," she says, motioning her hands to the general space surrounding us. She leant down, resting her elbows upon the island countertop.

"Oh, minimalism?" I say, remembering our conversation shared at her place just yesterday. It felt like days ago by now.

"Yes," she nods. "It suits you. It's funny, because with just meeting you, not seeing your home, I would've assumed you were more into mahogany woods and books upon books. The classics, too." she says, smiling softly to herself.

"Really?" I chuckle.

"But now that I'm here, seeing your home, I've realised that, actually, this suits you a lot more." she says.

"Perception is a funny thing," I say. "I think your home suits you. Very much so,"

"You did mention," she smiles.

I heard the kettle click, so I turned around, and retrieved two mugs.

"Coffee? Tea? Herbal tea?" I ask, back still turned.

"Black coffee?" she asks sweetly.

"'Course," I nod.

Since I, too, wanted that, I decided to bring out the cafetière. I poured in some grounds, followed by water, and whilst it infused, I turned back around to look at that dark haired girl in my home.

"So, what time did you end up going to sleep after work?" I ask.

"Around 8am," she shrugs. My eyes widen.

"Why?!" I say, shocked.

"I got busy," she says. I felt a slight twinge.

"Oh, yeah." I nod.

I turned back around, to press the coffee. As I did so, my mind began to wonder how she had become busy. Was it with a man? If it was, why should this matter? It didn't. I poured the rich black coffee into two mugs and turned back around to give one to Zahara.

"Thank you," she says softly, taking ahold of the mug with both hands.

"Sofa?" I say.

"Okay," she nods.

We walked to the living area, sitting on opposite sides of the sofa. Once again, there was an odd sort of tension lingering through the air. Once again, I had caused it.