He hasn’t managed to pronounce my name correctly ever since that first time he did.
So what he did was wave; his other hand hovering over the laptop.
I raised my eyebrows at the gesture – yet I walked up to him anyway.
It’s not like I have a reason not to.
I bowed down a bit and peeked at the screen.
The Original Language; meaning a ton of symbols and characters I have never seen before.
He didn’t seem to be bothered by my what-are-those-exactly expression, instead pointing at the screen and asked me how to search something in that file.
A little ‘oh’ and my fingers automatically found the two keys needed.
I glanced aside to check if that was what he meant.
Needless to say, the amazed look on his face answered my unvoiced question.
I rolled my eyes.
And they say we’re the people from a developing country.
The sound of the biscuit wrapping being ripped open travelled in the room where I was sitting.
The floor was cold, but it wasn’t like my friends and I had a choice. There were no seats. Who the hell designed a backstage room without seats and with so little light? Lucky there wasn’t any curtains blocking the natural lighting. The view to the heart of the city wasn’t so bad either.
More plastic wrapper sounds danced their way throughout the small space as the sweet scent of sugar started to spread, making me sigh in relief. After what seemed like ages, lunch break and glucose were exactly what we needed.
I fished out a biscuit and bit it, savouring the lemony taste on my tongue. For a while there were only crackling sounds of crackers being bitten off and the sound of spoons battling against food containers. Everything was serene and everyone was thinking about their own issues in today’s tasks. It was, and they were – until I noticed the others glancing at the top of my head. A hand reached over my shoulder and took another biscuit before I knew it. I looked up and saw a glimpse of mischievous grin on that familiar face.
A cheerful gratitude replied my surprised look before he bit it.
I waited, speechless until he told me it’s “pretty”.
I told him that in my language he was supposed to say “delicious”.
He repeated the local word with an undeniable accent.
A small laugh escaped my lips as I gave him the usual approving nod.
He looked proud.