On the first page of a little notebook, Alen wrote that he had not planned this. Nejra looked at the message, then his scarf-wrapped neck, and laughed. After a weekend hosting two events and shouting over music, his voice had almost disappeared. He had suggested postponing the date. She said he could come without a speech. Now he sat opposite her in a tea shop, a man known for his quick tongue, holding a barely functioning pen.
They had met at a book event where he moderated the discussion. Nejra liked how he listened to the guest, although she later wondered whether he was simply good at waiting his turn. When he approached afterwards, he spoke easily, without a sentence that had to be found halfway through. She worked in accounting and often felt she thought of interesting things only after conversations ended.
That evening she had an entire conversation at her disposal, which frightened her at first. Alen wrote a question about her day. She answered briefly. He wrote another, more specific one: who had last ruined her break? The story of a colleague and a missing mug drew so many words from her that the tea cooled. Alen laughed almost silently. When he wanted to add something, he raised a finger and began writing. She had to wait, and that waiting felt unusually pleasant.
On one page he attempted to draw his cat. It looked like an angry wardrobe. Nejra took the pen and added a tail. They spent a long time improving the entirely unnecessary animal. No audience awaited a good punchline. When the waiter brought an incorrect bill, Alen could not quickly charm the situation right. He simply indicated the item and waited. Nejra saw for the first time how much energy he normally spent keeping everything around him moving without interruption.
Before they parted, he wrote that he was sorry he had not been entertaining. Nejra turned the notebook round and asked on paper whether he wanted another date or a programme review. He looked at her, then crossed out his sentence. He wrote Saturday at seven. Beneath it she added that he could speak that day, but need not fill every moment.
His voice had returned by Saturday. At first he talked too much, noticed, and stopped halfway through a story. Nejra did not rescue him with another question. She took the notebook he had brought and opened the cat page. She added a small cushion. Alen watched her draw, perfectly content to have nothing to say for several minutes.