It is a gloomy day. He is reading when she calls. She says she is in need of a cup of his special coffee, so he tells her to come over. She doesn’t have to say much, she never has to, because he has always been able to sense her feeling through her voice. She once called it his talent, his own magic, his special ability that nobody has, but deep inside, he knows it is because he’s clumsily in love with her, so much that he pays attention to every little detail.

It feels easier to get over her when he is in his natural habitant, and in this case, his room. He stands up and looks arond. Jesus, it is a mess in here. He hasn’t left this room for 2 days because he doesn’t have any class – the final is coming and the university is nice enough to  give them some days off – so books and paper are everywhere. He cleans up himself and the room a bit, then go putting some coffee in the coffee machine. The familiar smell spreads, lifting up  the dull, gloomy air, it is like this room has finally waken up after two rainy, full of studying days. He is warming up the milk when the bell rings.

He doesn’t notice that it is raining outside; it obviously is because her hair is wet. When he was 6, he first discovered that for some people, their hair became wavy when it was wet outside. “It was because of the humidity“, she once said while putting on her hoodie in annoyance. He has never known how to tell her that he loves her wavy hair, especially when it is because of the rain (sometimes in the morning, when she gets out of the shower, her hair is wavy too). Locks of hair would naturally fall to her face in no particular order,  and her hair would hold the fresh, earthy smell of rain and her favorite grapefruit flower shampoo. It is the smell of innocent, pure drops of water falling on white, smooth, silky petal.

“Hi.” She says simply. She tries to get some hair of out her face, then gives him a shy smile – she is apologizing for the hair again.

“Come in”, he says, stepping aside.

“The rain is crazy. It caught me off guard and now my hair is a nightmare.” She takes off her coat and shakes her hair a little. It becomes wilder that way, seems harder to tame and hold back. She runs her fingers through it in hope of straightening it a little bit. “It smells nice in here. Is the coffee ready?”

“In a minute.” He moves to the kitchen, with her right behind. While he is finishing the milk, she goes over the cupboard and gets her cup. It is a blue one, like the water of the ocean. He bought it on the trip to Caribbean as a gift to her, and she said she would leave it here so she could have a reason to come over.

When he pours the coffee to her cup, she seems to be deep in thought. Her eyes are far away. “What are you having in mind?” He asks.

“I was thinking that I used a lot of words ending with “y”, like fussy, and wavy, and pretty.” She takes a small sip, leaving a mark of red lipstick on the cup. “It doesn’t sound professional.”

He gives a small laugh. “Why are you suddenly so interested in being professional?”

“I don’t know, but it must have sound silly…see? Another “y”.”

“Well I think it is lovely.”

“You  think everything is lovely.” She mumbles. “I will try to say more big words.”

Silence falls comfortable between them as the rain continues to hit the window. He looks over to her, she is still thinking about it, and absentmindedly moves a strand of hair out of her face.

“Hey, do you think I can describe my hair as undulate?”


“You know, how I always complain that it’s so wavy when it is rainy, so instead, can I say undulate? It sounds grown up to me.”

“I don’t know. I rarely heard people saying it.”

“Hey, maybe I can use it from now on. It will be trendy, oh crap. It will be fashionable in no time.” She says, curling a lock of hair around her finger. She smiles happily, like a child proud of her little achievement. For the first time, he sees her interest in her natural hair. On the tip of her toe, she swirls around, and bows like a ballerina.

“Lady and gentlemen, my undulate hair.”

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