James heard the silence and then breathed out as her gentle playing resumed.
He was guided to a small low table that had a shisha pipe and many plates. James took a seat on the cushions and he told the waitress that no, he wasn’t expecting anyone to join him.
He did not dine alone though, for her music spoke to him the whole night.
It did.
And it did not just speak to him, because as her music intensified, the guests started to work out that the mysterious beauty must surely be James Chatsfield’s fiancée, for why else would he be watching her so intently and with pride in his eyes as Leila told their story with her fingers.
James heard of the fear and confusion that had spun her into the sky that night and had brought her to New York.
He recognised the moment they met for there were two harmonies now coming from her fingers. Masculine and feminine, playing alongside, complementing the other, strengthening the other, enhancing the other.
Their first kiss she captured and so, too, their first dance.
The restaurant was entranced as she gave them her and James’s story.
Did they know, James wondered, that Leila was telling them now of the night they had first made love?
Did they get the pain that was being revealed to him now, as he left her alone in a hotel room?
Could they understand her fingers spoke of confusion and fear that ran alongside the joy of knowing a baby was growing inside of her?
Her music spoke of them again, of those tentative first days together, that had since spread into weeks. It told of anger that faded and rows that healed rather than hurt. It told of faltering steps towards intimate moments, but it did not say the one thing that now needed to be said.
Rather abruptly the music concluded and Leila looked up and met his eyes.
The restaurant broke into spontaneous applause. Leila had never been applauded for her music and it was somewhat overwhelming, but the best part of it was when they stepped outside and James told her he had been wrong.
‘You could raise ten babies on your music, Leila. You were amazing.’
‘Thank you.’
‘It was about us, wasn’t it?’
‘No.’ Leila smiled. ‘You must have had too much shisha.’ She pointed to a café that was closed. ‘That is where I get my coffee after my shift and then I take it over to the park and I watch the people and I dream.’
‘What do you dream?’
‘That I belong.’
‘We could go over there now.’
‘It’s nighttime,’ Leila said.
‘But you’re not alone,’ James said. ‘And you do belong.’
She’d always been alone, Leila thought, yet she didn’t feel that she was now.
They walked through the dark and she led him to a bench where she usually sat, but tonight they decided that they would lie on the grass and they looked up to the stars.
‘There are so few,’ Leila said. ‘Where I live there are millions...’
‘There are millions here also,’ James said. ‘There are just too many lights in the city to be able to see them.’
‘You’re a very nice teacher,’ Leila said, because he never made her feel stupid. ‘You are very patient in the way you explain things to me.’
He turned and looked at her. ‘Do you miss home?’
Leila did not look back at him; instead she stared up at the sky and wondered how he would react if she told him that this was home now, that he was her home. That the affection and the care he had shown to her these past weeks, even during the most trying of times, was more than she had known in her life.
She didn’t answer him; it was James who broke the long silence
‘I miss home,’ James said, and he watched as she turned to him. ‘I’ve got an apartment about a ten-minute walk from here. I honestly thought we’d do better in the hotel—you know, dinner in the restaurant...’
‘We don’t go down for dinner much though.’
‘No,’ James said. ‘And I’m starting to really enjoy having breakfast in bed.’ Their gazes held. ‘With you.’
‘I am too,’ Leila admitted.
He leant up on his elbow and his hand was on her cheek. ‘Come and live with me, Leila, in my home.’
‘You want to live with me?’
‘I could think of nothing nicer,’ James said, and his mouth came down on hers.
Soft and slow, he kissed her, and it was Leila whose tongue slipped in first.
She was deeply in love with him, Leila knew. She wanted the endearments, wanted more of the kiss he gave. His hand was resting on the ground by her head, hers was at the back of his head. She knew every part of where their minds and bodies were when he pulled his lips away with just enough breath to say the words she had longed to hear—‘I’m in love with you.’